James Kirk did not like the way his uniform fit. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he turned to his side to examine his profile, turned back to face himself directly, then turned around and looked back over his shoulder. He groaned, tugging at the hem of his little uniform, trying to pull it down lower on his thighs, but it was all futile. The little red mini-dress hugged his now full breasts, and clung to his wide, round hips.
He couldn’t hide his figure, and boy did he ever want to. He could even see the outline of his bra through the materiel, and when he let his eyes drift down to his long, coltish legs in the dark tights, and then the high boots that encased his rounded calves, he felt sick at the thought of walking out of his quarters and facing the crew like this, as a she, in this body. With these breasts. He shook his head, looking at them perched on his chest.
He was pretty sure the girls had issued him some kind of push-up bra that lifted them and made them seem even bigger than they were, presenting them to the world like an invitation. When they’d taken his measurements they’d teased him about his d-cups, promised him most of the women on the Enterprise would be jealous of his breasts.
Maybe, but he felt pretty sure the women were going to love the irony of seeing him, the playboy captain, now with an hourglass figure, and forced to wear the same demeaning uniform as a woman. How many of them had he flirted with, hit on, and now he was as pretty as any of them, and they had to laugh when they saw him. He knew it.
As for the men? He knew what they would be thinking when they saw this body. He turned to the side again, looking at his curves, the way his behind swayed and rose, so inviting, and the way his breasts hovered in front of him. He shivered at the thought of the men checking him out, looking over his shape, the same way he used to do when he was still a man.
I am a man, he thought, tugging on the hem of his dress again. I will always be a man. I don’t care what body I find myself in, what uniform the Federation makes me wear. I. Am. A. Man! He felt the bra straps digging into his shoulders, the weight of them heavy in the cups of his bra, and he became aware of the tightness of his dress, the feeling of the tights on his smoothly shaven legs. His head spun. Could he still be a man with this tiny waist? These small arms?
But I am, and I always will be. The intercom buzzed, and Spock’s voice called out, “Captain?”
“Captain here,” Kirk responded, his new voice sounding like a little girl’s, especially compared to Spock’s deep tones. Kirk grimaced, hating the way he sound, wondering why his body had to be so extremely womanly, so intensely feminine. But, of course, that had been no accident.
“I just thought it prudent to remind you that your hearing begins in ten minutes.”
“I am aware,” Kirk answered, annoyed that he sounded to his own ears like a petulant child. He searched for the right placement, the right tone. “I mean, I know.”
“It would not look good if you were late to your hearing. There is a belief among human males that one of the qualities of a female is the need to take a very long time to get ready.”
That’s because it does take longer for us to get ready, Kirk thought, hooking his hair behind his ear. He realized he’d just thought of himself as a woman, but he pushed the thought away. “I’m leaving now.”
Over on the counter in front of his bathroom mirror he saw a selection of cosmetics he’d been issued been issued along with his new uniform: mascara, blush, lipstick, nail polish. He’d insisted he didn’t need them, but the girls had placed them in his basket anyway, insisting it was regulations.
There was no regulation requiring him to actually use them, to paint his face. It would be hard enough to get the High Command to take him seriously dressed like a waitress, he thought, let alone if he painted his face just like some girl.
And yet the woman on his ship had always worn make-up, had felt pressured to wear it even when it was impractical for their jobs. Had he been part of that? He’d never said so. never told any of them they they had to make themselves pretty, but had it been in his attitude? Had they known he valued them based on their attractiveness and felt the only way to get ahead was to be pretty?
He’d think about it later. Once more tugging on the hem of his little dress, Kirk bounded out of his quarters, quickly measuring his steps to keep his breasts from bouncing, and then he did his best to assume the air of command he’d honed for all these years, to walk and compose himself in a way to say– I am still Jim Kirk. I am still your Captain.
As the cool air of the deck washed over him, and his nerves jangled at the thought of his upcoming hearing, he felt his nipples getting tight and hard, pushing at the stiff cups of his bra. He got on the elevator and took a position between two security officers, each of whom now towered over him, making him feel that sensation that he was a child once more. He didn’t wan to re-enforce it by speaking, but he had to, and so he said, “Gentleman” and tried not to wince at the pretty little voice that came out of him.
“Sir,” the officers responded.
Sir. Kirk felt good to hear that word. Sir. He was still Captain James Kirk.
And then he sensed it, the eyes of the security officer falling to his behind, burning a whole in it. He wanted to say something, to reprimand the man, but his body tensed up, and he couldn’t speak, couldn’t say anything, because he didn’t want to acknowledge that he was a woman, and that he was being mentally undressed by a man, and that it made him feel– scared.
Okay. Just a little fanfic interlude I had intended as a paragraph, but which turned out longer. Anyway, as we pass from the holiday season into the New Year, I am publicly pledging to write more often!!!!! I think for a blog to be vital and useful to the reader, it has to be updated regularly, and look for that to happen! Including with some awesome fan fiction!!!!
I am seriously thinking about doing a Rey is Darth Vader series. What say you?