Refuel.  Relax.  Release.

The three reasons Wedge Antilles had stopped at Ghibli’s Hyperspace Roadhouse.

Refuel had been taken care of.  His X-wing’s empty tank had been topped off ten minutes ago, and a nice, greasy nerf-burger had quieted his growling belly.

Relax, in this case, meant stretching his muscles, cramped from a long journey in a small cockpit.  He leaned against his ship now, whistling off-key, for he knew release would be along any minute now.

Bingo!  A cute little blonde came sauntering his way.

“Hiya, honey,” she squeaked, adjusting her top and giving him an eyeful of her bodacious bosoms.  “Quickie before you hit the spacelanes again?”

“How much?” Wedge asked.

“Depends on what ya want, sugar.”

He leaned over and whispered in her shell-like ear.  She rolled her eyes as he backed away, but named a figure he could afford. 

And they got down to business.  She unzipped his flightsuit and dropped to her knees.  Her fingernails scratched his balls but her mouth felt great.

Really great.  It was time.

“Lock S-foils in attack position!” he yelled.

She stuck her arms out at her sides and started with the “Mroom!  Mroom!”

That was hitting the spot!  “Almost there… almost there…”

“Mroom!  Mroom!”

“All right, let’s blow this thing and go home!”

Little starlines flickered and sparkled behind his closed eyes.  Ahhh, that was better.

She stood and held out a hand.  Wedge paid her.  She turned and left.  As she walked away he could hear the dulcet tones of her voice floating back to him.

“Pervy X-wing jocks.  All they really wanna do is screw their ships.”