It's far from finished! But I thought it might be a nice little hormone rush to perk up some bored brains. A picture of The Dress that inspired this story is here.

"It can't be that bad."

The voice interrupted my musings, and I looked up sharply, prepared to set whoever it was firmly back into his place.

But I stopped as soon as I saw him. That wasn't any impertinent youth trying to get fresh with me. He looked middle-aged, dignified, authoritarian. Still trying to get fresh, of course, but not to be rebuked in the way that came first to my lips.

I straightened a little, conscious of my appearance. Was I really so long-faced? Yes. I'd been slumping there, frowning, kneading my Fruit Strip with my fingers, staring into nothingness with such concentration that I'd been vaguely aware of this man pausing to look at me, but hadn't reacted to it or come back to reality.

I half-smiled, to get my face into better lines, and to politely brush away further intimacy. "Life is pointless," I said honestly. I stood up. "Better get back to it."

Not that I needed to go anywhere. All my personal junk from my desk was there in the big green satchel at my hip. I didn't have a destination now.

I had come to the Imperial Gardens and found this secluded bench, hidden by overhanging greenery, with the intention of crying myself out then having time enough to patch my face back together before having to see anyone.

But when I got here, the atmosphere was so soothing, and the solitude so refreshing, that I'd forgotten about crying. Just sat and sulked instead.

The stranger stood still and watched me. He was unremarkable at first glance, nondescript, a presentable face and figure, well-groomed in anonymous civilian clothes. But he had a magnificent attitude: as if he had every right in the universe to stand wherever his feet were planted and observe his victim as long as he chose.

If he'd had that other air about him, that of a nosy person seeking a flirtatious conversation to while away an hour or so, I would have sent him packing.

He almost did. I couldn't tell.

I couldn't produce any of my killer man-repellent remarks. I just couldn't-- something stopped me. I looked at this man, and wondered who he was. A desk job all his life, like me? Or a woman-killing bum who liked to fly undercover? A secret agent? A grocery store clerk? No, not that.

"Well, you looked so depressed," he said, excusing himself. My unfriendly stare must have been working after all.

He might have left, then, but I said quickly, "And you-- you're feeling smiley today, and want to inflict it on the rest of the world?"

He shrugged. "I'm alive."

"Of course." Then that casual statement pricked my conscience, made me feel a little shallow. I was alive too. Young, healthy, and financially secure. I was just bummed out about my stupid parents and my stupid boyfriends, and that was shallow. Really shallow.

It really was better to be alive than dead, wasn't it?

And wasn't life-- /interesting/, somehow? There is always the chance that some big, wonderful opportunity will open up, just around the next corner. As long as you're alive.

"Are you going to eat that?" he asked me.

I had kneaded my Fruit Strip into a decahedron. "Not any more," I said.

The man produced from his pocket a folded napkin, saved from some restaurant, and invited me to drop the sticky orange multi-shape into it. For lack of any better ideas I did so, and wiped my fingers on the corner of the napkin. He tossed it into the trash around the corner.

He came back. I didn't say thank you. I refused to be put in a stranger's debt like that, for something I could have done just as easily myself. It was a matter of principle.

"Would you like to go to the restaurant with me, and eat something more civilized?"

That was too sudden by half, when I didn't know him from a post.

I said, "Sure."

We walked to the lift. "What's your name?" he wanted to know.

Unbelievable forwardness. I do /not/ allow myself to be picked up in public areas by strange men too old for me. I said, "Allina."

He gave me a glance that I pretended I didn't notice. "That's a pretty name."

"Yours?"

"Andries," he said, just as uninformatively.

-- only he was doing it on purpose, just to be mean and to show me how I sounded.

"Piett," he added.

I thought of belatedly supplying the rest of my name, but it seemed too awkward. It occurred to me that if he left now, I would never know his name, or where he was from, or what he did in life, or whether him walking up to me was part of some plot by my father or somebody at work to get me married, or whether he was married already -- oh, but of course he would be married, as old as he was. Or else recently ditched. That was a possibility. That would explain why somebody who definitely didn't seem like either a lecher or an axe murderer would ask a complete stranger to lunch.

Over lunch there would be time to find out things like that.

We found out lots of things, while sitting across from each other eating 'civilized' food with a knife and fork. He studied my shoulder insignia, and since my name badge wasn't showing he asked me where I worked.

"Imperial State Insurance," I said. I thought of adding, At least I did until this morning, when I decided I couldn't stand the idiots another second. But I didn't add it. Professionalism was all over him. At least being usefully employed might get me a notch or two more respect. Being a dissatisfied rich bitch mall bunny probably wouldn't. So I left it at that.

"Oh, you underwrite the new Navy ships, then?" he wanted to know.

"Not me. The officer types would be too much for me. I prefer corporate claims."

"Don't the corporate types get a bit much, too?"

"They would if I had to see them, but they send girls just like me who couldn't give a damn and we cooperate nicely at getting all the paperwork done. If the Navy had women I might not mind them as much."

"Maybe," he said, meaning, I disagree completely, but I'm going to be polite right now, because I'm interested in you.

I didn't care enough about the subject to argue. I remembered one of my original concerns: "So, are you married?"

"No," he said, and graciously left it at that. Didn't even look at me with appreciation for asking such a leading question.

The better way to phrase it would have been, Do you have family on Imperial Center? Are you visiting? Do you live here?

Too late now. So I buried myself even deeper: "Ever been?"

He shook his head, and now he was looking at me, with the smile a bored man has for something very diverting.

"All right, then," I said, turning red.

"I don't mind," he said.

I had already forgotten time. I was rapidly forgetting place. I thought, Well, he might be ordinary, but there is /something/ about him, and he's not bad-looking. I opened my mouth and stuck my foot all the way in: "Why not?"

He was smiling now, of embarrassment, the same as I was, but he answered with what seemed like honesty: "It never seemed important enough before."

That wasn't quite what I was expecting. "And you mean-- it does now?"

And all of a sudden, I couldn't stop looking at him. He was not bad-looking at all. There was something about him. Something like-- I could curl up in his arms and the world would go away.

He had given up trying not to look at me. There were only the two of us, on the whole planet. He said, "I saw death not long ago, in a form I'm not used to. I want nothing to do with it. I made myself a promise to go home and marry the first woman I saw. I want to do something about life. I want to have a piece of it all my own-- not a brush in traffic, but somebody to live in that big empty apartment they've assigned me, and remember me when I do die."

This was impossible. This was not happening.

I woke up a little, glanced around at the other tables, the people going their way without sparing a thought about us, the waiter droids scooting about, and the Gardens in the background. I realized I was hot. It had been pleasantly cool in the space before, but now I was almost sweating. I hoped my anti-perspirant didn't give out.

"That's always a good idea," I said lightly. "I suppose I'll get married-- someday. When I'm all finished having fun."

"I see," he said, and we were as distant as if the whole building were between us.

Part of me was conscious of having escaped. The other part cried out, Stupid girl!

"Yeah," I continued lightly, "That's part of what I was depressed about back there. I don't have the same problem you do, but rather the opposite; I have too many suitors, all unsuitable, except one who's perfectly suited and I can't stand him. Marriage remains on my parents' mind for me, carry on the family honor and all that, even though I have two older brothers who already have kids! I'm 'Aunt Allina' to quite a few people. But Aunt Allina still has to be fixed up. It's only right and proper."

Andries watched.

I was conscious of him, and talking to cover my nervousness. I resented that. "So, where do you work?"

He smiled a little, then, and I felt the aura lightening. He said, "I suppose the Navy shouldn't be mentioned, at this point?"

I laughed half-heartedly. And as old as he was, he wasn't in it for the college fund. A career type, then. An officer type.

I would not apologize. I would not apologize. That would only make it worse. I thought of adding something about how much more human he seemed than the other officer types, but of course I couldn't. I didn't know him, anyway. Hadn't seen him in uniform, in his proper setting-- he might be just like the others.

I said lightly, "I don't care. It's nothing to me where you work."

He was a little taken aback, and so was I.

I would not apologize for that, either. I would not.

I was not a rude person! After two years dealing with insurance-adjuster types, and lawyer types, and the really-not-that-problematical officer types, I had at least a veneer of professional courtesy.

But when in the grip of any strong emotion, I did tend to say whatever came to my lips.

I sat there with my mind in a whirl. It was wiser to be silent now. More words wouldn't help anything. I took a few bites of food which had lost all its taste. I looked up.

Right into his eyes.

Oh, no.

Wait, wait, wait. He was a total stranger. I didn't know where he was from or anything about his family. I didn't know his rank or his ship. I didn't know how long he would be here.

He put his hand out on the table, palm up, an invitation to me.

I looked at his fingers. Just like the rest of him. Ordinary, not remarkable in any way, but very nice. Fine, strong, well-shaped, as they should be. I found myself wondering if his hands would be warm or cool. What it would be like to--

You can call me just about anything else, but not a coward. I laid my hand in his, and his fingers closed over me. It was not like a trap, also not too insecurely, just a good strong, gentle, comforting grip.

My eyes closed. My other hand stayed in my lap. I couldn't have spoken to yell 'Fire!' and I felt completely lost as to what to do next.

I didn't want to move. The sensations in my hand, and my body, were incredible. I'd been touched more than this before, but to less effect. This had a deadly significance about it. Promising, possessing, tantalizing.

He hadn't even moved! Hadn't stroked me, just stayed there, linked with me like that. Kept on eating -- I heard his fork touch the plate. Then I heard the fork set down against the rim, and in sudden fear that he would join his other hand with the first, and I would be captured forever, I yanked my hand away with more force than was needed.

"Forgive me," he said not assuming I was offended, but just on the off chance I might be.

"I need to go," I said, standing up suddenly. "I'll be late for a meeting."

Even if there had been any meeting, it wouldn't have been time to leave for it yet. And my salad was barely half-eaten.

He stood up too.

"Thank you for the company," he said politely. "I hope you were distracted from your depressing thoughts."

"Yes, of course," I said. Though I couldn't say he had been entertaining or lighthearted. If my destiny had a role for him at all, it was as my doom. If he said anything polite now, it would just be the script of doom.

He was not saying, When can I see you again?

I might even say it myself. Would I sink that low? I couldn't just walk off, though the stage was set for me to, with him planning to remain at the table and finish his lunch. But I had to walk away, since I had just said I was going to.

I'd said too many odd things, made too many sudden moves, for this complete stranger.

I stood there and the universe paused and waited-- something had to happen.

Something did, in the person of one of my boyfriends. One whose name I knew but had never even learned to pronounce correctly, and didn't bother to try since I knew he would answer no matter which way I pronounced it. He arrived in a boyish whirl of arrogance, looked over the man I was with, and must have decided he was either a relative or something to do with work. His posture said he couldn't quite decide between automatic respect for one's elders and those in authority, or automatic scorn for one's elders and those in authority. He said, "Hi, there," to Andries, who smiled in an absolutely unreadable way, then he pulled me aside to share the big news. I almost missed the first half of it, in trying to puzzle out what that smile meant.

The thrilling news was two last-minute tickets to a group of supposed singers whom my father had said sounded as if they had their nuts in a vice, and while I usually disagreed with my father's taste in music (on principle), I had to agree with him there. They always had the volume up too loud, too.

"How did you find me here?" I wanted to know.

My little sister had told him. Bless her. And about the concert?

No, thank you, I could actually bear to miss that one. I had to protest how sure I was of this, then whatsisname left, after kissing me before I had time to protest. I turned my face away so that he got only my cheek.

I wished Andries hadn't seen it. Then I remembered that I had been just about to walk away and didn't care.

"Or you could go with me to the symphony instead," Andries suggested, when I went on standing there alone.

I allowed a long, long pause, during which I remembered that I didn't know him from a post. He might not be an officer type, he might be a slasher, or a career rapist, or worst of all, somebody from my office playing a joke on me. "That sounds like a better idea," I said, trying to keep from smiling with satisfaction. I produced one of my name cards and handed it to him.

"Eight o'clock?"

"Fine," I said.

Then I had no option but to leave.

I spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for a suitable dress and thinking about that complete stranger whom I was going to go to the symphony with tonight. Assuming he showed up? I imagined myself being stood up, and couldn't imagine it. I didn't know that man from a post, but I felt that he would be there if he said he would.

And how do you know that? my self asked me scornfully. I shut the inner voice up, and thought about the man as I shopped. I was trying to remember him. I knew that he wasn't much taller than I was, and yet seemed a reassuring presence at my side, in a way that big guys sometimes weren't. Every detail of his features that I remembered was an imperfection, but I had the overall impression of handsomeness. I remembered how my body tightened every time I looked at him.

I found the perfect dress. It simply jumped off the display at me, screaming, 'I am the perfect dress!' and even fit me perfectly on the first try. While they were hemming it I looked at the other dresses and realized, for the first time in my life, that the primary goal of this shopping trip had been to find something I thought /he/ would like. "The perfect dress" was burgundy, which I usually despised, and high-necked, which was a waste of yet another chance to display of a couple of very good assets. It was really two pieces, a long-sleeved, double-breasted tunic over a long skirt. Was that military knock-off style an attempt to make up to him for my clumsy remark? I had an attack of second thoughts then, after it was already too late to not buy the dress, but when they brought it back to me and I saw how good I looked in it I felt happy again.

I got into a skycab and suddenly remembered the fear of being stood up, but in a different light than anger and embarrassment. For just a moment I feared I'd never see that man again.

My life would be empty--

I wouldn't be able to stand it--

Oh, come on, get a grip!

Burgundy, huh? I thought it would go well with Navy grey. I had considered white, which would go better, but white was still the color of wedding clothes, and I was not quite there yet. I was curious-- okay, I was interested. But I wasn't ready to sign on the dotted line that I was The One with whom he should settle down and raise a passel of brats.

Before going back to my parents' apartment I stopped to have my hair done, and I was sitting there in my room regarding the fancy hairdo in the mirror when Mom came in. "Hi, Mom," I said. "Isn't this poufy thing horrible? Doesn't it make me look like an old lump?"

It made me look like a younger, more beautiful version of her, I realized, as I compared my reflection to hers. Only I didn't have that dissatisfied expression yet.

"It looks fine to me, dear. The Scheduler says you're going to the symphony? Which one of those horrid boys has enough good taste to take you to the symphony?"

"Who says I'm not going by myself?" I asked, then proceeded to start ripping out the elaborate hairstyle.

Mother only snorted. Her momentary start at my wanton destruction was quickly covered up-- since she didn't care, either way. On principle.

I said, "It's not a boy at all." I didn't realize the other possible meaning of that until it was out; then I smiled when she looked astonished. Would I take up with a girlfriend instead, just to give my mother grey hairs?

"You can't be saying--"

I said calmly, "It's a man, Mom. He's out of the 'boy' age range. Fully grown. Mature. Adult."

"Oh?" She put her hands on her hips. "What do you mean? How old?"

"Bit older than me."

"How older?"

"Just trust me. Older."

"How much?" she insisted.

"I don't know. I can't tell ages. Who cares? Old's old. Maybe forty-something."

She was relieved. She must have been working herself up for eighty-five. I went on with my hairbrush artistry. I was trying for a sleek topknot.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Nobody you know. I met him at the Gardens today."

She was shocked again. "A complete stranger? You're going to the opera with somebody you've never met?"

"Symphony. And of course I've met him, or how would he ask me out?"

"But you never met him before?"

"Nope."

"At least get his hand scan before you leave."

"Whatever." My hair was coming unglued. I screamed, "Maid!"

My mother said, "I like your dress. It's surprisingly decent. Tasteful yet elegant. Very appropriate for an evening date! I hope I see more outfits like that!"

I looked at the dress again. It was a failure, I knew that now. If my mother liked it, then it had to be awful. And I didn't have anything else! The only dresses I hadn't worn yet were short ones, not anything I could wear to the Opera House. It was always fun to show some leg and scandalize everyone-- but I was thinking of him.

Blast it, I had already done my eyes in burgundy sparkles, too.

I let my hair fall and stomped out in a rage. Mother was confused. The Maid hit the wall when I pushed by it in the doorway.

I went outside the apartment to the hallway. Alone felt good. But I realized I was barefoot and that my hair hung around my shoulders. I laughed and walked. I'd have to buy some different shoes anyway. The ones I'd bought this afternoon were probably just as old-ladyish as the dress. Back to the shops, then. I still had an hour before--

He was there. In the common room, lounging in the chair across from the lifts, wearing Imperial uniform this time, black boots propped up on a table not designed for them, leather-gloved hands folded contemplatively over his stomach. He was looking right at me, too, so there was nowhere to escape. I pushed my hair out of my eyes.

"Hello," he said.

"Oh, no," I said.

"Good timing. I was just settling down to wait an hour."

Barefoot, and with my hair hanging loose. A little embarrassed. More elated. Getting prickles down my back. My stomach suddenly empty and nervous and tight. I said, "You had nothing at all to do for an hour?"

"Not really. I took care of some trifling errands earlier, but after that--"

"You said something about an apartment? Yours?"

"Yes, but only 'furnished' and empty. It wouldn't be any less boring than sitting around outside your place."

"Well, as you can see, I'm not quite ready. I have one or two more things to do."

He smiled. "Shoes?"

"That too."

"Who cares about shoes? There's carpet all the way there."

"Oh? And the hair?" I stuck my fingers into my hair on both sides and pulled away from my head, to demonstrate its wild-woman-ness.

He was looking at my eyes, not my hair. "I like that too."

My mouth went dry.

Why not. The hair people had washed and perfumed it. I paused at a mirrored surface to smooth it out a little, then went with Andries up the lift to the landing pad.

Outside was better. I took a deep breath of cool air, and felt much refreshed. Skycab?

No, we didn't bother with that. There was one of those big tri-foil shuttles that military brass like to use as personal transports. Wow. Seems he's somebody. I hadn't bothered to ask his rank. Supposed he's a damned Moff, then? I looked at the colored squares on his breast. There were six red and six blue. That was easy enough to remember, and I was sure that, as soon as somebody addressed him and thus let me know what it meant, I would never again forget it in my life.

The pilot sprang down when he saw us, just to stand there crisply at the ramp and say, "Admiral," then get back on board.

Admiral, then. All right, I will remember that.

The pilot had a rank, too, but I didn't know and didn't care. Learning 'Admiral' was not a sign that I intended to familiarize myself with the whole hierarchy.

Admiral Piett. I thought about it as I arranged myself carefully into a seat. Piett. Allina... Piett.

It sounded good.

I said, "What exactly does an admiral do?"

"Commands a fleet, usually. In my case, the admiral starts off by 'not letting it go to his head'. Lord Vader is in command of the Death Squadron. The previous admiral took his position a bit too seriously. I wouldn't make that mistake."

"Darth Vader?" I said. "I've heard of him."

"Have you, really." He smiled at his hands

I wanted to be them.

Or be in them...

Oh, no.

The shuttle stopped at the landing pad outside the Opera House. It touched only briefly; as soon as our feet had left the ramp it lifted off to make room for the next 'gilded coach' in that minor traffic jam. Piett and I joined the beautiful people going up the steps to the main entrance.

"Where are we sitting?" I asked him.

To my surprise the answer was, "The Imperial Box."

I couldn't help smiling. Wouldn't my social-climbing mother turn green? She had never made it that high. What a novelty, for me to have an experience that would shock her by outdoing her.

So I had the best view in the house, and the envious attention of a hundred pairs (always pairs, since nearly everyone here tonight was human) of eyes, and the elitist thrill of that kept me occupied for a little while.

We weren't alone. There were two other couples. They ignored us.

I said into Piett's ear, "Oh, good. We're not alone. So at least I don't have to worry about you doing something improper with your hands."

I heard him laugh just a little, under his breath.

I listened to the soft hubbub around us and thought about what I'd just said. Yes, I was thinking... for distraction I added, "This is a grand place."

He said. "Do you come here often?"

"No, I've never been here before."

"Never! I don't know why. If I lived so close, I'd live here," he gestured with his neatly-gloved hand to indicate the surroundings.

"I've always run in a different pack," I admitted.

"Yes, the pack of admirers. You must tell me about them sometime."

"Ha. You don't want to hear about them."

"Not really. The simple fact is enough. I looked you up at ISS today..."

"Did what?" I whispered.

"One wouldn't know, to look at you, that you've been in jail twice already."

"Oh, that. Why did you do that? Why look me up? Not your business. I'm not your concern, surely."

He shifted in his seat, impatient with my foolishness, but his arm moved toward me rather than away. I wondered if he would touch me.

"I never did anything wrong. The first time was 'out of bounds' at State Ins, and it was because of staying late to make some copies, perfectly legal you understand. A big misunderstanding. The other time was, um..."

"It did sound like quite a party."

He sounded bland. The words seemed to say what they said. I looked at his profile, which I could barely see. An oldster sympathizing with me for a change?

"I didn't do anything, though," I said. "That was a couple years ago, and I only went to that particular party to horrify my mother. Everybody who was there got arrested."

"The reason I looked you up was only to see how old you are."

"Huh," I said. "I could have told you. I'm twenty."

"You look sixteen. Going about without your shoes on doesn't help."

I giggled, but very quietly, as the music was beginning. "There's that. But it was your idea."

"My idea?"

"I would have stopped and bought some shoes," I amended.

He was laughing too. I could feel it rather than hear it. "I'm just worried that I'm going to put my foot down and step on you," he whispered.

"Ouch. Don't do that." His boots were crossed at the ankles, and were just in a position to be a good footrest for me, so I leaned back too and crossed my bare feet over the top of them. He turned his head to look at me. I pretended I didn't see.

"Don't get used to it," he said.

The music they played had a beautiful melody, easy for humans to appreciate. I found myself listening to it, enjoying it and my surroundings. The darkness, the hush of a thousand people, and the music around us, slow and heavenly. It occurred to me how different this was from the depression and pointlessness I'd felt earlier in the afternoon.

I said, very quietly, "This is nice."

Andries said, "If I've got to be a footrest, I might as well be a sofa."

I laughed, then I thought about it. Sit on his lap, here? Well, was I ever one to turn down a challenge? I rose a little and helped myself into his lap. He put his arms around me, put one foot up on the railing before us as a nice butt-rest for me, then leaned me back expertly into his embrace, and before I knew what was happening he was kissing me. I had never been kissed so in my life, never. I'd kissed a few boys... but this was different. As I'd told my mother, this was a man, and I found him ruthless and unhurried, very sure of himself, slow and thorough. I didn't feel trapped or rushed or as if something had been assumed about me. I just lay there as comfortably as if in my own bed, without a worry, free to enjoy the sensations, the fire, the crawling eagerness that built up quickly in my body. I didn't have to wonder what to do with my hands. He held both of them in one of his, and the other hand, cool in black leather, curved around my cheek while he kissed me. He paused to say, "All right?"

"Yes, yes," I said. "Oh--" I pushed up, bare feet on top of his, to get back to his mouth again. I was already used to that much and wanted more.

I got it. The music went on, louder and more dramatic now, in sweeping phrases relating to some ancient fairy-tale. It went on without me. I was drifting on soft clouds, held in strong arms, the gloved hand caressing my neck, my mouth being explored as a remote corner of the universe would be, with method and exactness. There was all the time for it, after all, and this was what time was best spent doing.

I forgot time. Nothing existed but the taste of his mouth, the tingling awareness of his body, the locations of his hands. Very discreet, socially-acceptable locations, too, and stayed there, but their small movements began to drive me mad. For the first time, instead of repelling advances, I was longing for there to be more of them. My breasts tingled, wanting to be touched-- if he tried to touch them, I wouldn't be offended.

I'd never had to ask for it before. But I was starting to ache. My body felt weak, soft and warm and warmth pooling between my legs. It's so dark and comfortable in here. Wouldn't it be nice if he would touch me? I moved invitingly, wondering what I needed to do to get it through to him.

Only that, only a hint like that. He pushed me away from him, his hands went to the buttons at the front of my tunic-style top. I was accustomed to the darkness now and I could see him looking at me. He had a nice face, really. Handsome, but not too much so. Chiseled lines of purpose and authority. The perfect Imperial officer. He didn't even smile as he unbuttoned my top; I undid the upper buttons as he worked on the lower.

I saw the black sheen of his gloves as he unhooked my bra-- I sighed as he cupped my breasts, then he gripped my nipples and I couldn't help but moan.

"Shh," he said.

I leaned my head against his shoulder and just enjoyed it, the slow, gentle movements. I thought about how my breasts felt, warm soft flesh at the mercy of cool leather. "Can you feel me through that?" I slurred.

"Mmhm," he said. He let go my breasts and ran his hands up and down my midriff. If that was to show me that he could really feel me through his gloves, I don't know; I only closed my eyes and wondered if anything, anything in the world, could feel better than that.

My waistband--

I mumbled something, I don't know what. I reached for my skirt and accidentally pushed one of his hands away, but I was quick to invite it back again. I unclasped the skirt, his hand went in, down, I scooted up so he could reach me better. I buried my face in his collar as he touched me. I was breathing hard. Slippery, cool leather gloves brushed my folds, further, touching me where it mattered most. His fingers pushed down to the melting invitation I had become, his palm was around my bone. Soft woman's hair filled his palm-- could he feel that?

A finger, two, slid inside me, rubbing me slowly, insistently.

Sweet fire and night--

"Quiet, whatever you do," he muttered into my ear.

It reminded me of reality, the music, the darkness, the people near us. This was a semi-public place, and here I was in the middle of it, in his lap with his hand down in my crotch, his other hand creeping up to my breast, a portion of my skin exposed and seemed to me to shine in the darkness. If anybody looked our way-- I wasn't jerked back to reality, only shown a picture of it, and it seemed funny and very erotic.

His hand went on moving slowly, sliding with my slick wetness between us. The pressure was satisfying, and also maddening. I moved my hips. His fingers weren't enough. I wanted more. I wanted to be not in a dark semi-public place, I wanted to be alone in a bed, and him with me, naked as it should be. I was liberated, a creature of light and pleasure, basking under his attentions. I felt so greedy and selfish with him trapped in his clothes, his muscles tense, his jaw set.

I started to resist.

"Shh," he said. "Stay there."

"I want you," I said.

"Come into my hand, right now."

His two fingers moving inside me, hard invaders drenched with my wet, his strong arms holding me. My breast held as if it were a handle to my body, five fingers firmly clenching it, sensation screaming through me, excitement piling upon excitement, but a little fear. And then a command like that.

"Quiet, darling," he whispered to me as I died.

I was quiet, so quiet, trying to breathe again after the calamity had passed. That was nice, but unfulfilling. He held me, the wonderful man he was. The answer to my dreams. What I'd always wanted. He was painfully hard beneath me. Now that my attention was a little off myself, I could feel his agony of waiting.

I sat up a little, but slowly. I ran my hand down the front of his uniform, the buttons, belt buckle, his trousers tough and tight-fitting, doing an admirable job of restraining what pressed on them from within. I touched it, it was alive, shouting out to be freed and conquer.

I whispered something, unintelligible. I was a soft animal pelt draped around his shoulders, for all I knew or cared.

"It's all right," he said, in that mild, beautiful voice.

"Please let's leave," I said.

"You don't want to hear the music?" He was teasing me.

"Want you. Please."

"We'll go. Let's button you up--"

I belatedly thought of helping him fasten together my clothes.

He slid me off his lap and back into my seat, and I had to stay there a second to gather my equilibrium and pretend to be okay. I looked around. Several faces in profile, and the two nearest us concealing their grins. Piett had stood up, and leaned over to lightly cuff the ear of one of the grinners. They exchanged words too low to be heard. I stood up and managed to walk out on my own power.

We left the Opera House, somehow. The cool night air revived my body but did nothing to distract my mind. "Where can we go?" I said. "I want you, I must have you."

"I told you I wanted to be married," Piett said. "Remember that? We'll go to my apartment if you marry me first. It'll take five minutes."

I looked at him as if he had sprouted horns. As if somebody put a delectable pastry on a plate in front of me, and told me I couldn't have it unless I stood on my head and barked like a dog, and promised to love, honor and obey until I was dead.

"That's crazy," I said, by way of consent.

He was right, it took five minutes. I was sobered a little, and had my hair brushed out nicely, by the time the shuttle got us to some military office alarmingly near Imperial Palace, where we walked in. I wasn't worried. I'd never wanted a man so badly in all my life, no, to change that, I'd never wanted a man to 'have and hold', etc, but I wanted this one. It's not hard to make up your mind about the final purchase, if you've shopped around and checked prices. When you see the one you want, you get it.

I got it, in an exchange of dreadful oaths in the presence of that location's commanding officer. I got a nice silver ring for my hand, too. It had the geometric Imperial logo at regular intervals with inspiring words in Aurebesh between: 'unity' and 'power' were the two uppermost when I looked at it.

Piett kissed me formally, not much emotion in it at all. The married peck was appropriate now that we seemed to be married. But his skin, sweet flames and night, the taste of him. It made me blush. His hands. I could smell myself on his gloves-- could that other man smell it, too? I thought I would faint. The other officer kissed me on the forehead and said, "Mrs. Piett, welcome to the Navy," and then, "Take her home, Admiral, it's long past her bedtime."

"Yes, I can see that," Piett said. "Come along, dear."

He stopped me in the hallway, grabbed my waist in both hands, and kissed me hard. It had 'domination' all over it, and, five minutes after it was too late, I wondered if I should have thought about that marriage idea before jumping in with all four feet.

I said, "So, where is your place? Is it nearby?"

"Quite close," he said.