The sterile quiet of debriefing leaves my mind too still. They tell me the body is a weapon to be calibrated, but they never account for the phantom weight of a cock that wasn't issued. When I'm alone, I strip and just look. The curve of my tits, the hard line of my own shaft against my stomach. A biological contradiction. I'm trained to end life, but this part of me is built for a different kind of intimacy. One I can't afford. I wonder what it would feel like to have a mouth on me, to not be the one in control for once. To be used for pleasure instead of purpose. These are not thoughts for an asset. I will suppress them.