If you don't like a single thing that I'm saying,
If you're offended when I demonstrate,
Don't mean a damn to me and I shall continue,
Hope you won't mind if I control my fate.
Freedom, Blues Traveler
If you're offended when I demonstrate,
Don't mean a damn to me and I shall continue,
Hope you won't mind if I control my fate.
Freedom, Blues Traveler
Under Their Thumbs
Like a cat lying on a window sill, basking in sunlight. That's how I felt. The world was gone, and I was just "there", somewhere, nowhere, surrounded by light and warmth and love. I felt free and safe.
All of Heaven was open to me, ready to receive me, if only I knew how to enter, if only Heaven were more familiar.
Then, not quite suddenly, the white light that surrounded me took forms, and the love that filled my heart was not so anonymous. A voice spoke my name, my true name, and I melted into a tear.
"Daddy!" I cried out in a new language that was neither English nor Kryptonian. Zor-el looked just as he had always looked, his hair long, his beard unshaven, because he was always working, it seemed, sacrificing all his time and finally his life to save his daughter.
"Kara, we've been waiting for you," replied Zor-el, as he held me tight. "Your mother is waiting to meet the child she has never known. Your friends from home want to hear how you survived the Abyss. You even have a friend from Earth, her heart overflowing with forgiveness. My beautiful Kara, you have spread love throughout the universe."
I held to him tightly. "Oh, Daddy, I've missed you all so much! Where is my mother? Where is Pam?"
"You'll be with them shortly, but first will you do something for me? " Zor-el said mysteriously, then he paused to smile at me.
I smiled back and kissed his cheek. "Anything, Daddy."
Then his eyes frowned slightly. "Would you please put some clothes on?"
My smile dropped. "What?" I asked in shock …
Something changed. I heard a crack of thunder. Zor-el's bright face disappeared behind clouds, and his warm embrace turned suddenly cold, leaving me alone and shivering, my whole body tingling and aching, as if in withdrawal from his love.
I opened my eyes, and I could barely see the three men who were standing over me.
The first man blinded me with a penlight, saying, "Hello, there. How are ya doing? Can you see this light."
I tried to respond, but I don't think I said anything.
Another voice said, "You might as well ask her if she saw the light of heaven, because she's been dead for almost an hour. It's a miracle."
"More likely the fires of Hell," continued a third man, his voice severe. He wore a black suit with a funny collar. "She lived a life of sin and has earned a sinner's fate."
Suddenly that man was pulled away, and a familiar face filled my vision. "Linda! Linda, oh thank God, you're alive! Are you OK? Do you want anything?"
I closed my eyes, as all the horrors and pains of living came back to me like a tidal wave.
I longed for the warm bright sunlight and that wonderful sensation of love. I reached out with my hands, and I don't know why, but I cried out the name of my cat, "Calvin…" before I fell into a deep sleep.
I tossed and turned for some time, falling in and out of sleep, but never fully conscious. I heard many voices talking frantically, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.
"Hello, my sweet little muffin," Officer Brian O'Neil greeted me with a great big smile on his face when I finally opened my eyes.
I smiled back at him, though smiling did not come easily. I felt terrible. My body was slick with sweat, and the flimsy hospital gown I was wearing irritated my skin. I tried to turn my head, but something prevented me. I glanced up and saw braces holding my head still, and an IV drip above them.
Brian, catching my confusion, explained. "The docs tried to attach the IV to your arm, but they couldn't push the needle through your skin. It's amazing how such soft skin can be so strong. Anyway, they had to use the two holes Jim poked in your neck. You really had us going there, sweetie. The doctors were franticly guessing at how to treat you. They wasted about fifteen minutes bickering that they didn't have any Kryptonian blood, before they tried regular old type 'O'. Worked like a charm."
'How did I get here?" I asked wearily. I couldn't think or see clearly, and I could barely understand what Brian was saying. Everything was a blur. What was that he said about my neck?
"I found you," Brian replied solemnly, "after someone called into the station this morning, complaining about a disturbance outside of their apartment. I saw the red cape first. For a sec I thought …Well, it doesn't matter what I thought. You're alive and you'll be beating the crap out of bad guys again in no time. That's all that matters, now."
"I'm sorry, Brian," I said wearily, embarrassed that Brian had to rescue me.
He took my hand in his, and I was alarmed to see how white and anemic my skin looked against his healthy tone.
Memories of last night flooded my brain. Pam was dead. Murdered. Jim was there for me, comforting me, making love to me, taking away my pain. His eyes were so kind at first. Then hungry like a wild animal. What did he do to me? I had trusted him totally, and he was so gentle. At first. But then he attacked me. I remember feeling a sharp feeling at my throat . . .
Oh God, he was the killer! It was so obvious! Now I felt really ashamed and afraid. I had been so weak. I should have known, and I should have protected Pam from him. Instead, I nearly chased her into the grave.
Why couldn't Brian just let me die? Everyone I loved was already dead. My life was shattered. Why bother living anymore?
"Hey, hey, it's OK, munchkin!" Brian whispered, when I started bawling like a baby. "Really, everything will be fine. Here, maybe this will brighten you up." He reached down below the hospital bed and struggled for a moment. "You don't know how hard it was to get him by the doctors!"
When Brian put Calvin on the bed beside me, I stopped weeping. My poor little cat looked up at me with concern, more for his own well being than for mine. Calvin was a house-cat, and this was the first time he had been out of the house since I had adopted him. I knew exactly how he felt. Uprooted. Disoriented. Insecure. He burrowed under the blanket and nestled between my arm and my chest. I wanted to surround him with my body as if I were a cocoon and kiss him and whisper sweet nothings into his ear, just like I wish someone would do for me, but I could barely even move my head. At least I could pet him and feel his warm fur between my fingers. His dependence on me made me feel stronger.
I smiled at Brian, tears streaking down my cheeks. "Thank you."
He smiled back.
The door to the hospital room opened. Three military officers were standing outside, holding reporters back, while three other men hurried through, closing the door behind them: Clark, Andrew and a doctor.
I squirmed nervously.
Clark was wearing his red and blue. His eyes were filled with pain and anger, and I prayed that he wasn't angry at me. I started to say his name, wanting to apologize without even knowing if I had done something wrong yet, but he covered my mouth with his hand, protecting his identity from the doctor.
Andrew already knew Superman's alter ego, as did O'Neil, who had ties to the SSA. But the doctor was apparently on a need to know basis.
"Well, look who's awake," smiled the doctor with all the sincerity of a politician, as he took my hand and felt my pulse. "Hmm, your pulse is finally down to normal. You gave everyone quite a scare, Supergirl."
"What about my skin?" I asked him, showing him my hand. "Why is it so white?"
"Your skin color and strength will return to normal in a few days," the doc replied with confidence, as though he'd taken care of Kryptonians throughout his career. He looked me over. "You already look much better than you looked just fifteen minutes ago."
I wanted to ask him a few more questions, like how long I needed the IV in my neck, or if I could get the brace removed. But Clark interrupted.
"Thank you doctor," Clark said, while urging him towards the door.
"No problem. I'll check on her frequently during the next few hours. Oh! And the cafeteria is putting together a special diet high in iron for the girl of steel." he said, smiling brightly at the play on words.
Clark smiled back perfunctorily and then closed the door behind him.
Suddenly the room was quiet, except for the dull clamor of reporters yelling outside the room, demanding to know what was going on. Andrew, Clark and Brian were all just staring at me, shaking their heads.
"What does the media know?" I finally asked.
"They know that you were injured," Andrew replied, while flipping out a notebook. "Supergirl, that is. They don't know about Linda Lee or your moonlighting as a stripper, but they may figure it out when they put all the pieces of the puzzle together. Quite a crowd gathered around when the ambulance came to your rescue, and they all saw that you were naked and bleeding. An hour later, it was reported on the news. Rumor has it that you are hairless down under, but that kind of news only gets around through the grapevine, so no one will take the rumors seriously in a week or two. A few people saw your face, and others claim that you had light brown hair. Fortunately, no one took a picture."
"That reminds me," Brian said, and a moment later, all I could see was a drape of blonde hairs covering my face. Brian carefully adjusted the wig, looking at it from all angles, making sure that not a single brown hair leaked out, while gently caressing my face at the same time. "If the media somehow manages to sneak past our guards, they should see a blonde haired Supergirl."
I watched Brian as he worked. I knew that his lust for me was only matched by his affection, but he never once asked anything of me. He never judged me.
If only my other friends were like that.
I didn't want to look at Clark, whose glare was so intense I could actually feel the heat on my skin. I didn't want to imagine what he might be thinking of me.
Clark never knew. He never knew anything! He never knew about my adventure with Catwoman. He never knew about my lesbian relationships with Pamela or Carol. And he certainly never knew about the Luscious Linda Lee at the Kindling Klub. He thought I was just a sweet, vulnerable orphan who happened to have an aversion to panties. That alone should have told him something.
Andrew continued consulting his notes. "A few cops at the scene recognized you, but they agreed to keep it hush-hush. O'Neil, I'm counting on you to keep them at their word. They seem eager to brag. This is a real mess. We haven't told the media a story yet, but we are thinking something close to the truth, like: you were attacked--"
"Why did you dye your hair?" Clark suddenly asked, interrupting Andrew, as though it was a critically important question.
I knew he wasn't really thinking about my hair, but I answered the question, anyway. "What difference does it make? I had to wear a wig one way or the other, either as Linda or Supergirl. Women dye their hair all the time." I didn't want to tell him that when I perform, men touch my hair and see it up close. They would notice a wig right away.
"Why did you do it?" Clark yelled suddenly, startling me. He said the word 'it' like he might say the word whore or abomination. "Doesn't Andrew pay you enough for his assignments? Surely you know how dangerous it is."
I shook my head. "It's not that dangerous, really. I can't catch any of their diseases, and they can't catch--"
"Haven't you learned anything from last night?" Clark cut me off, shaking a finger at me and pacing around the room. His muscles were bulging through his costume as he held back his immense temper. He scared me. Andrew and Brian wisely stayed out of his way. "You are playing games with your powers. Andrew told me the kinds of stuff you do on stage, so late at night. Playing around with Kryptonite would be safer. If I ever hear about you doing that again . . ." he trailed off, as his anger evaporated.
I wanted to object, but Brian beat me to it, saying, "Maybe Linda should keep stripping for just a while longer."
"What?" Clark said, flashing him a glare.
"As bait to a trap," Brian continued bravely. "We still have a killer vampire out there on the loose, and we have no clue where to find him. Jim's very smart, and he's hiding his trail. But maybe we don't need to find him. Jim was screwing up the past several days, since he met Linda, and I think she touched him in some way. He was very attracted to her. Obsessively so, don’t you think, Linda? Sure, he tried to kill her, but he regretted it, as evidenced by the way he covered her face when he thought she was dead. Now, that he knows she is alive, he'll want to see her again. I think part of him wants to be caught. If Linda goes back on stage, I bet he'll come back to see her and we can trap him."
Andrew nodded, "Hmm, sounds like a good plan. The best we have, anyway. Just so long as the vampire never gets close to Linda. If she has to use her powers to defend herself, the whole world will know her dirty little secrets."
"Don't talk like that," I objected. "You were a part of some of those secrets, remember?"
Andrew adjusted his tie and glanced at Clark. "I'm sorry, Linda, but this is business. It doesn't matter what we do in private; the media is gonna be looking for any dirt on Supergirl that it can find. You'll need to be the perfect lady in public, and as modest as Mother Theresa. I'm just trying to protect your image."
"I don't want your protection. What difference does it make? Maybe everybody should know the truth. Just line up a bunch of reporters in the hall, and I'll do a show just for them."
Clark looked at me sadly. "Oh, Kara, what would your father think if he heard you talking like that? You are disgracing the memory of Krypton."
His words hit me harder than his fist ever could. "What do you know about Krypton, Kal?" I lashed back, "You -- you barely even know the language. And you never knew my father."
Clark touched my hand with his. "I'm sorry Linda, I'm just really concerned about you."
"Go away," I said, pulling my hand away and choking on my tears. "All of you. Please. I'm really tired. I can't do this anymore."
Confused, afraid, sad, lost, dizzy. So many emotions, none of them good. I didn't need to feel angry as well.
How could they come in here and attack me like that? I felt like they were hitting me when I was down.
At least I have you Calvin, I thought. He purred loudly as I rubbed his neck and head, and his purring made me feel better. I decided that pets were better than friends, but I didn't want to believe it.
A few minutes later, a nurse named Janine rolled a TV set into the room and handed me the remote control. She was very nice -- not fake like the doctor was. She wasn't gonna write this experience up in some journal. She wasn't sucking up to people in authority. She was just doing her job -- helping people. She told me if I needed anything at all, even if it was just to talk, to call her. I smiled and thanked her. I decided that strangers are better than friends, but I didn't want to believe that, either.
As soon as I clicked the TV on, I saw a stock photo of myself on the news, and I discovered what happened last night -- what Clark, Andrew and Brian neglected to tell me.
"A stalker still haunts Metropolis by night, but the stalker is not a panther! Police confirm that the animal responsible for four deaths in the past week is in fact a vampire. Tragedy was narrowly averted early this morning when Supergirl confronted the vampire -- and lost! Her body was stripped naked and left for dead. She has been in critical condition through most of the morning at Metro General Hospital, but just minutes ago her condition was upgraded to stable. Details are sketchy at this time. Was she sexually assaulted? How could a vampire defeat someone so powerful? Why were fibers of panther fur found on the bodies of every victim. Police have declined to comment."
That was all the information the news crew had about last night. For the next fifteen minutes they retold the same story three different ways, and interviewed "experts" who made educated guesses. The anchor woman interviewed a psychic who had insisted for many years that vampires were real, and delighted in saying "I told you so" before dropping the topic altogether and prophesying about the end of the world.
After that, the network returned to the regularly scheduled soap opera at that time slot, but abruptly interrupted again with breaking news. "We've just acquired a video tape that sheds some new light on the events happening this morning."
The ten seconds of video tape looked like it was filmed by someone on a pogo stick. It was a series of brief images and blurs. The network played the tape first at normal speed, then in slow motion. The first clear image was of a cop trying to push the camera man away from the scene. The second image showed the alley where Jim attacked me. The playback stopped on the final image and zoomed in, showing me on a stretcher. My face was blocked by a paramedic, but I was stunned to see my bare breasts filling the TV screen -- filling the screens of half the TV sets across the nation.
Of course, people looked at my bare breasts every night at the Kindling Klub, but I never expected to see them on public TV for every man, woman and child to see. I didn't even think it was legal, but the network actually freeze framed it there. Maybe the image was so blurry that it passed the censors. Or maybe they were willing to challenge the rules for high ratings. The anchor man reached across my breasts onscreen with a pointer to indicate the two puncture marks on my neck, and a smudging of blood on my shoulder. I put my fingers to my throat and felt the rough surface of a cloth bandage, and then the smooth, cool plastic of the IV tubes. When I touched them, something shifted under my skin, unsettling me, summoning up memories of last night. Of Jim's face, his mouth opening, baring his teeth. Of his hot breath on my throat. Of his teeth, under my skin.
I turned off the TV set. That was enough catching up for now.
"Well, how is my favorite patient feeling?" said my doctor with his patented plastic smile, as he carried in a tray of food. I wondered if doctors usually delivered room service themselves, or if I was getting special treatment.
"I'd be feeling better if people would knock before they come in," I replied.
His smile barely wavered, but I knew he didn't like me any more than I liked him. "Very spirited, aren't we? That's a good sign."
He pressed a button on the side of the bed. I felt my head lifting up, and soon I was sitting fully upright. Then he swung a small table into place over my lap and placed the tray of food upon it.
I wasn't hungry to begin with, but I was even less hungry now, looking at my meal: Spinach, some kind of awful looking meat that I later found out to be baked liver, a stale white roll, and small glass of yellow juice.
Calvin peaked over the tray to sniff at the liver. As far as I was concerned, he could have it.
The doctor walked around my bed and reached to grab Calvin, who hissed at him. "Bad cat!" he said with a sneer. "He shouldn't be here in the first place."
"Leave him alone!" I yelled. The doctor was so startled he leaped backwards. He was afraid of me, even in my weakened state. I stroked Calvin gently to calm him down, and I said more quietly, "He's not a bad cat. He's just acting naturally."
"That's what being bad means, dear girl," the doctor replied as he headed for the door. "Enjoy your meal."
Calvin looked worried as I put him in the pet carrier, but I was smiling. Not a thin polite smile. Not a half-hearted humorous smile. No, a big white toothy smile. Because I was going home from the hospital. And for the first time, even my doctor's smile seemed genuine.
I had been at Metro General for only three days, but it seemed like much longer than that. I hated having the armed guards at my door. I hated the hospital food. I hated Andrew's and Clark's frequent visits, since all they did was attack rather than comfort me. I hated everything about this white, lifeless, sterile place. The nurse Janine helped me get ready for my departure -- she was the one bright spot of this whole experience. I gained one friend. I might have lost two.
The most important thing was that I was feeling better, and I didn't look deathly ill anymore. The "type O" blood was doing the job, but it was like putting economy gasoline in a Ferrari. It wasn't quite the real thing. My powers were iffy at best. My skin was impenetrable, but I was swelling around my joints. If I really concentrated, I could probably bend steel, though I'd rather just lie down and do nothing. It would be several days, maybe even weeks before I was at 100%.
I dressed up as Linda and slipped past the media outside the hospital without notice. My first thought was that I'd sneak into an alley, change into my costume and fly home, but I felt dizzy, like I might faint. I glanced back at the hospital, thinking that maybe I should stay a while longer, but just the thought of the doctor's smug face calling me "his dear girl" renewed my resolve. I hailed a taxi.
The ride home was more interesting than I hoped for. The driver was Arabic, and he didn’t speak English well, but he sure talked a lot. Maybe he thought conversation was part of the job. He complained every mile between the hospital and my driveway about how lonely it is here in America. People didn't understand him, no one spoke his language, and he felt like an outsider. I found myself sympathizing with him. I remembered how hard it was to learn English and to make friends, especially outside of college. But the cab driver lost my sympathetic ear when he rebuked me for under-dressing. He also lost a good tip.
What was he even complaining about? I mean, my skirt was almost knee length, and my blouse was loose fitting. Well, OK, I wasn't wearing a bra, but it wasn't all that noticeable. I knew I shouldn't let his hang-up get to me.
It was just that when he said that, he sounded so like my father. . .
Zor-El was the most loving man I've ever known, and I loved him dearly, yet throughout my teenaged years, we were always fighting. We fought about how I dressed, what I did with my friends, and how little he cared. But it never really seemed like we were fighting with each other. It was more like we were fighting against fate and the shadow of the Abyss. We knew exactly when we would all die, right down to the hour, and we faced this knowledge in very different ways.
I didn't understand the concept of "generation gap" until just a few years ago, in Psychology 101. Social Sciences were a new idea for me, as was "formal education". No one saw any point for that in Argo City, since resources were so low, and everybody knew we had no future. So why go to school? We were the lost generation.
My generation grew up on a mining asteroid, with little food and diminishing resources. It was a miracle that we were even born, but it was a forgone conclusion that we would all die within seventeen years, whether from running out of food or from a meteor shower that everyone knew from day one was gonna hit. Somehow, we managed to make the food last, but we could not stop the meteors. My generation lived our lives without any kind of hope. We accepted our fate, and we lived life to the fullest until the day of the Abyss
Daddy had lived a very different kind of life from me. He came from a rich, proud family, living in the palaces of Krypton, and worshiping a god named Rao. He studied with famous intellects, who all preached the supreme power of the mind, and the ability to overcome every obstacle. To him, accepting our fate and enjoying life in the shadow of death was unthinkable.
I don't know why I never listened to him. He was, after all, the reason why many of us survived on Argo City for so many years. When he promised me that I would survive the starvation and the meteors, he wasn't just trying to give a desperate girl false hope. Maybe I didn't listen because I didn't really want to survive, not without him, and not without my friends or the only life I'd ever known.
I didn't want to die, but I wanted to face the Abyss like everyone else. I wanted to hope the same crazy hopes that there was something wonderful and marvelous on the other side.
In a way, that's exactly what happened. I faced my Abyss for several weeks in a tiny capsule, losing my mind in grief and loneliness and fear, until the capsule finally opened, and I was born into this new terrifyingly beautiful world, called Earth.
I had always been afraid to wonder if my parents and friends ever made it through their Abyss, into their afterlife. Yesterday morning I found out -- unless I was only dreaming. But it seemed so real, so overwhelming, I could not possibly have imagined it. When my father rebuked me for being naked, it sounded so like him, as real as if he slapped my face.
"This your home, lady?"
"Huh?" I said, suddenly remembering where I was. "Oh, yeah, thanks."
The cab driver pulled into my driveway, and I climbed outside. Calvin meowed excitedly in his box. I shared the sentiment. It seemed like I was gone for more than just three days. And, oh, was ever I looking forward to taking a long, long bath!
"Very nice little house. Very pretty," said the cab driver. "I wish I could live in a place like this."
I smiled, forgetting how the driver had offended me earlier. I gave him a big tip.
Then I snagged two Daily Planets up from my porch and opened the door.
Newspapers were not meant to be read while taking a bath. It was simply impossible to keep the paper dry when the front page story continued on page 24. But I couldn't stop reading the article:
"What Really Happened to Supergirl" by Clark Kent.
In short, Clark told the biggest lie he had ever told -- other than that he was just a mild mannered reporter, anyway. The story was 100% damage control. He dismissed the accounts from eye witnesses who saw my brown hair and my shaved pussy as pure fantasy. The lady who called 911, thus saving my life, later told the press that she heard moans of pleasure, but Clark ridiculed her interpretation, saying that moans of pain were easily confused with moans of pleasure.
Then Clark totally pissed me off by fabricating a story about that night, with no basis in truth, and claiming that I was the source of the information! Presumably, I was searching for the panther that night, when I encountered a man in apparent danger. But he was a vampire, not a man, and he allegedly lured me into a trap, involving, of course, kryptonite. Then he tore off my clothes and brutally attacked me, raped me, and left me for dead.
Oh, Clark, why did you have to lie? Whatever happened to journalistic integrity? Whatever happened to Truth, Justice and the American Way? Was that just a cruel joke? A slogan?
I knew that Clark was jeopardizing his reputation to protect me, but I wished he hadn't. I never asked him to, and I didn't appreciate being put in his debt. He had always let me live my own life and make my own decisions, but now he was making decisions for me. He was trying to protect me from myself.
I dropped the newspaper beside the tub and closed my eyes, trying to relax. I reminded myself that Clark was only protecting me because he cared. I should have been used to that, because my father tried to shelter me throughout most of my life. But instead of relaxing me, those thoughts made my blood boil and my muscles itch.
I climbed out of the tub and stood naked in front of the mirror. While drying myself with a towel, I looked my body over. My skin was a little red from the hot water -- something which never happened when I was a full-blooded Kryptonian - but otherwise I looked in the peak of health. The swelling at my joints was gone, and even the bite marks on my throat were healing nicely. A touch of make-up would hide them.
If I wanted to hide them, that is. My first impression of the scars was that they were ugly, but now I found myself admiring them. They were attractive, in a sick sort of way. Through these holes, Jim entered my body. From these holes, Jim drained my life. Into these holes, I was given new life. I stroked them lightly with my fingertips -- and shivered. I realized the scars were erogenous zones. So it would be criminal to show them in public, I thought with a sly grin and a feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach.
Whenever I would meet someone as Supergirl, they would glance at my neck, hoping to see the vampire's signature. But to actually let anyone, especially a stranger, see something so erotic, so personal, so terrifying, so meaningful, would be obscene. There were no laws against exposed scars, but any decent person would have enough shame to hide them.
Shame is such a dirty word. My life was full of it, and just the idea that someone should do something out of shame disgusted me. I was always proud of my body, even before I had a "Super" body. It was my one true gift, and I wanted to share it.
I smiled as I thought how my erotic antics kept Clark and Andrew, who were considerably less proud of my body, scurrying to quell a rumor or hide evidence, and replacing it with the "official truth".
As I looked at myself in the mirror, I tried to reconcile what I saw with how the world saw me. I felt a horrible wave of anxiety rush through me, as though suddenly I didn't recognize myself.
Did the world know that my nipples hardened when I touched them? Did they know how easily my juices flowed in my officially recognized blonde-tressed pussy?
Did they want to know?
I slipped my red micro-skirt over my officially recognized blue panties. My nipples officially didn't peek through the "S" on my blue and red top. I debated whether to wear the wig, since my hair was still officially blonde, but I chickened out and wore it anyway.
Then, in full uniform, and with a dangerous state of mind, I opened the window and leaped up into the sky, un-officially back in action.
Maybe I was rushing my recovery, I thought as I nearly crashed into a tree. I was like a bird trying to fly with clipped wings. But I quickly adjusted to my handicapped powers and gained some altitude.
Supergirl was an everyday sight in the skies over Metropolis, yet today many people stopped what they were doing to stare at me. I wondered what they were thinking. Were they happy to see me? Or maybe all the rumors and "official truth" were making them suspicious, as they would be of any celebrity.
I didn't want to think about that right now, so with a surge of energy, I climbed into the sky, above the clouds. I didn't descend until I was well outside the boundaries of Metropolis.
The land was much more beautiful here in the quiet suburbs and rural areas. I swooped down low, as if surfing over the green hill tops which grew ever larger as I neared the Appalachian mountain range.
The population out there was sparse so far away from the big city, and I didn't notice anyone looking up in the sky watching me. I felt like I had total privacy and freedom and a chance to settle my chaotic feelings. But that all ended when I arrived at Midvale.
There I saw two older women waving at me with both hands. They weren't waving "hello" to me. They were trying to catch my attention. One of the women was calling out, "Help us, Supergirl."
I spiraled down and landed on the 50 yard line of the Midvale High School football field, as the two ladies and a few dozen tittering young men in football gear rushed up to greet me. A moment later they were joined by the kids' parents and other fans, who were scurrying off the bench seats alongside the playing field, to meet the visiting hero.
Everything seemed perfectly normal, almost Norman Rockwell-ish about the scene. The school looked very old, as if from the last century, although the football field was new, with sections still under construction. The only thing that struck me as odd was the music playing on the loudspeakers of the announcement booth, sitting atop the scoreboard.
"What's wrong?" I asked the lady who appeared to be in charge. I assumed that she was the principal of the school. Her name tag said simply: RODIGER.
"Do I have to tell you?" Principle Rodiger sneered, as she glared disapprovingly at my costume, but she was too upset with her own problems to give me grief. "Are you deaf?"
I listened for a moment, but all I could hear was that strange music. I think I heard the song before; maybe one of the strippers at the Kindling Klub danced to it. It had a loud, angry beat, and the lyrics repeated over and over again:
Now ya do what they told ya; you're under control.
"You mean the music?" I asked.
The lady covered her ears dramatically. "Darned right I mean the music! We don't play filth like that at our sporting events. A few delinquents locked themselves in the booth. Those . . . rascals are holding us hostage to this noise! I swear, they'd do anything just to stir up trouble."
I stared at her in disbelief, then I looked around me. Most of the football players were still laughing, but not loud enough to risk earning detention. A few of the parents looked as upset as the principal was, while others smiled in amusement.
This was the happiest group of hostages I'd ever seen.
"Well?" She demanded.
"Well what?" I didn't like where this was heading.
"Well, are you gonna put a stop to this?" She yelled, now as angry at me as she was at the kids.
Damn, I was hoping she wouldn't ask me that. I didn't want to have anything to do with this, but I was trapped. I was angry at this principal for trying to use my powers for her own agenda. This wasn't a job for Supergirl. I was supposed to save lives and stop crimes, not punish some rambunctious kids.
Who was I to punish anyone, anyway? To tell the truth, I admired these kids, whoever they were. They had guts.
But part of my deal with Andrew was that I would help out people in authority, whoever they were. And for that, I was paid $800 per day.
As I walked to the announcement booth, I listened to the words of that song again:
Now ya do what they told ya; you're under control.
Not me, I thought. I may do what they tell me, but I'm not under control.
"Why don't you just fly up there?" Principal Rodiger complained, as we stood directly under the scoreboard. She covered her ears as if the song was physically hurting her. "What are you smiling at?"
I didn't answer. I was lost in thought, as I stared at the only entrance to the newly constructed booth -- a scaffold which hung out over the football field. The floor was made of widely spaced metal links. I wondered how the hell I was gonna get inside without everyone in the football field seeing up my skirt.
This was hardly a new problem for me. It was a problem I always enjoyed solving, and when it got too easy, I compensated by shortening my skirt, until finally, I simply couldn't shorten it any more. If I wasn't wearing my cape, my ass would be partially exposed when I walked. So, of course, I shortened my cape as well. If one of these curious teenagers ducked, they'd find me out. I was surprised they didn't try.
It was all part of a game I played -- a game that drove Clark and Andrew crazy. Every month or two, I changed my costume slightly. I wanted to test the limits, and see just how far I could go.
After experimenting with various, ever shortening skirt and cape lengths, I worked on the upper part of my costume, replacing my modest cotton shirt with something so sheer and close-fitting that when I first wore it, many people thought I had tinted my skin and went topless. The corners of the "S" just barely covered my nipples, so technically, I was decent, if not appropriately dressed for all occasions.
While the public was still debating the merits and desirability of my tits, I literally thinned the veil over my pussy as well. I searched far and wide for just the right fabric, until I found a deep red, partially transparent gauze. When I pulled the front of my new miniskirt flat, my pussy was clearly visible behind it, but since the skirt fell in folds, the view was distorted.
Still, it was quite obvious to look at me that I wore nothing underneath. At least I thought it was obvious. It would be obvious to anyone seeing me up close.
Then Clark wrote an article, defusing the controversy, somewhat. He claimed that I wore flesh colored panties under my skirt, and he actually used as evidence the fact that no one could see any pubic hair! Under certain lighting conditions, the outline of my pussy lips was visible and was even caught on camera, but Clark dismissed that as a combination of distortion from the skirt, features of my panties, and imaginings of dirty minds.
Of course, some people expressed their dismay that I would encourage dirty minds in the first place with such a suggestive if not obscene costume.
Other people were surprisingly complimentary. The women's magazine "Her Choices" complimented me for my sense of fashion. Apparently, in some circles, exploring the rules was admirable.
But as I looked up at the scaffold, I reminded myself that breaking the rules was condemned.
If I tried to enter the booth the normal way, a hundred witnesses would get a long, lingering look at my pussy.
On the other hand, my pussy was aching from thinking about getting caught. If I didn't move quickly, my excitement would be dripping down my thighs and staining my skirt, and I'd be caught that way.
I had to consider a further complication: My excitement level was so high that the crowd around me would be feeling it as well. They probably believed their feelings were based on intuition or that their own dirty minds were getting the better of them. I was utterly exposed to their minds, if not to their eyes. They were already looking at my thighs, suspecting, wondering, anticipating . . .
Part of me savored the moment. I closed my eyes and absorbed the attention. The primal beat from the offending music only added to my debauchery, which seemed to know no bounds.
But part of me did feel some shame. I knew I could wait no longer. I squeezed my thighs together and hovered up to the scaffold, hoping for the best. Someone might catch a glimpse of my ass, but after a few days, Clark and Andrew would have the public believing that the reported ass sighting was really just a weather balloon.
The door to the observation booth was locked from the inside, but even in my weakened condition, I broke the lock in just a few seconds. I hurried inside and closed the door behind me.
The two villains cringed in the far corner of the tiny booth, just five feet away, and they stared at me as I entered. They were both 15 or 16 years old. Not quite boys. Not quite men, though each of them were taller than me. They were totally confused. They glared at me with a hatred they felt towards all authority, while at the same time, the bulges in their pants told me they recognized my status as a hot babe.
One of the teenagers was naked except for a slight bathing suit and a row of rings in his ear. The other wore torn jeans and looked a lot like a young Dennis Rodman. By contrast, my own clothing didn't seem so extreme.
"Leave us alone!" demanded the Rodman look-alike. "We haven't hurt anyone."
"Do you mind if I turn down the music?" I asked, looking at the large amplifier in the middle of the tiny room, trying to decide which of the many knobs was the volume control.
In a panic, they threw their bodies in front of the amp, guarding it like a sacred relic. I stepped back in surprise. Their eyes glinted with a religious fervor as they turned up the volume and chanted along with the lyrics of the song.
"FUCK YOU, I WON"T DO WHAT YA TELL ME!"
"FUCK YOU, I WON"T DO WHAT YA TELL ME!"
"FUCK YOU, I WON"T DO WHAT YA TELL ME!"
. . . over and over, gaining strength and conviction each time . . .
. . . until I found the plug and pulled it from the wall.
"I'm sorry," I said, "but I want to talk with you. I really like your song, by the way. That was 'Rage Against The Machine', right?"
They looked at each other in shock that any adult would recognize "their" song, much less like it. I could almost see them thinking: Hey, this babe's got good taste.
I held my hand out to them. "Maybe I should start again. Hi there, I'm Supergirl."
"Name's Mark," said the young man with the ear rings, as he shook my hand. His eyes never met mine. He couldn't get them off of my body. He breathed in my scent in one long breath.
I felt my body react, and I had the strange sensation as if the tiny room was shrinking even smaller. I had to remind myself that he was just a kid.
"And I'm Curt," said the other with the orange hair. His eyes drifted down. I thought he was looking at my breasts, but then he said, "Is that where the vampire bit you?"
I shivered. I wished he had been looking at my breasts -- I was used to that. But I wasn't prepared for the way he was looking at my neck. I had almost forgotten about everything that had happened the past few days, and now the memories flooded back. Memories of Jim tearing into my throat. Memories of that IV line invading my body.
I nodded. My heart was beating way too fast.
"Pissa!" yelled Mark, with all the sensitivity of Beavis or Butthead. "Can I see?"
My heart skipped a beat. I had the same feeling a car driver might have if she turned the wrong way down a one way street. But I didn't slam on the brakes.
I tossed my hair aside and pulled back the collar of my cape, revealing the two bright pink spots on my neck. Mark and Curt gawked at the symbol of my weakness. My knees trembled, and then I realized I wasn't ready for this. My emotions ran deeper than I thought. I felt completely exposed, like I hadn't felt in a long time. I felt like I had opened up my very soul. It was terrifying, embarrassing, and very exciting. My pussy was so swollen, it actually hurt. If Mark and Curt weren't so entranced by my scars, they might have seen several drops running down my thigh.
But my excitement was contagious, and they couldn't help but feel my heat. I learned from my job as a stripper that I was never horny alone. Even men who said "she's not my type" could barely keep their dicks in their pants when I danced on stage. My psychic impulses and my super-natural feminine scents carpet bombed their defenses, pounding them into submission.
What chance did these boys have? They were just learning how to handle those feelings. So I couldn't blame them for what they were about to do. I had to accept the responsibility for their actions.
"It's getting really hot in here," I said, as I leaned into them. They nodded in agreement. I could barely stand on my own, and the boys were all too eager to hold me up. I felt Mark's hand slipping under my thigh from behind.
I slipped away from their groping hands and reached for the door. I thought my best plan of action was to get them out of the observation booth and then get the hell away from Midvale before the flames burned out of control.
As I opened the door, I felt Curt's arm wrap around me from behind, seeking out my breast. I brushed his hand away. I was so distracted that I forgot to prepare my skirt as we stepped out onto the scaffold. So ended the controversy over whether I wore panties or not, as a hundred witnesses got an eye full.
But all sorts of new controversies would start over what happened next.
Curt and Mark were burning with passion for me, but when they saw the school principal staring up at them, their passion combined with rage. I never did find out what their gripe was with the principal or the school, but I became an integral part of their revenge.
Before I could fly off and end this public relations nightmare with a minimum of damage, Curt wrapped his arms around me and tore open the "S" in my costume, exposing both breasts.
If I flew away even then, the damage would have been minimal. The public would realize that I didn't break the rules -- these kids did. If I flew away, that is.
I stood completely still and closed my eyes, awash in the attention, as though this were a performance at the Kindling Klub. But I knew this was so much bigger than that. I was breaking all the rules. At long last, all the lies were finally shattered. Wasn't this what I had always wanted? I had slipped out from under Clark's and Andrew's control. God, was I messed up! I actually thought this was a good thing!
I wanted to just tear off my clothes and all my inhibitions, but I was paralyzed. I was too terrified to give, but I was ripe for the taking.
I threw my head back as Curt planted his lips over the scars on my neck, teasing them with his tongue, as he kneaded my breasts with his soft, inexperienced hands. He pulled me off balance, and I lifted my leg in reaction.
Mark tore my flimsy skirt away with one quick yank and tossed it into the crowd. A few football players fought each other to catch it. Then holding my knee up with one hand, Mark sank his fingers deep inside me and opened my pussy wide, as much for show as for his own enjoyment.
I turned my body slightly, so that I could spread my legs wider, and share my need. I resigned myself to whatever might happen next. I was gonna come for all these young men and their parents, and I would enjoy doing it, without even thinking of what it meant to them. My pussy was like wet fire. I was at critical mass. If I went any further . . . meltdown.
Why didn't it feel like an emergency? Why was I turning up the heat?
I heard the principal yelling up from below. "Get down here this instant, young men! Don't make this any worse than it already is!"
Curt stopped kissing my scars and yelled back, right next to my ear: "Fuck you, I won't do what ya tell me!"
I glanced down at Mark, who smiled wickedly as he dropped my leg and abandoned my pussy for a moment. He lowered his bathing suit to his knees and prepared to show me a really good time. His dick was already leaking.
I looked out into the crowd, and I could almost swear I saw my father out there, shaking his head . . .
That's when I finally slammed on the brakes, for what it was worth. This wasn't right. I wasn't making the decisions here. This wasn't my fantasy. This wasn't the message I wanted to send to the world. But more importantly, I was afraid.
Somewhere in my handicapped, lust-ridden body I found the strength to fly away. I flew up high above the clouds, which would be my only clothing until I got home, now that my cape and shoes were all that remained of my costume.
How were Clark and Andrew gonna explain this situation away. Mass hypnosis? Maybe this wasn't as big a deal as it seemed. I laughed nervously. Who was I kidding? How could it be any worse? At least I kept my wig on.
"Hi, Linda?" Andrew answered the phone. He sounded a bit hurried. I must have caught him at a bad time.
"Yes, Andy," I said, then paused. I hadn't called him Andy since that night with Selina in Leesburg almost a year ago. We hadn't been on as friendly terms since then. He was my boss, and that was that. But right now I really wanted to be his friend again. "You asked me to call you before I went back to the Kindling Klub, and I'm getting ready to go there tonight."
"Uh . . . " Andy delayed. I must have caught him at a really bad time. I could hear him whispering to someone in the background.
"Don't worry about me," I said, suddenly sure that I was being foolish. Why did I even think that we could be friends again? I felt sure that as soon as the news got out about what happened at that school, he would never want anything to do with me again. "I'm heading out right now. Goodbye."
"Wait! Hold on a sec, Linda! Are you sure this is such a good idea? I mean, hell, you just got out of the hospital this morning.."
"I don't know, maybe not," I replied honestly, "but my hormones are going crazy. I'm not thinking straight. I haven't had any release in almost four days. You know me and my appetite. If I don't do something about it, I'll end up fucking the walls."
Andy laughed, "That might be tough to do. Fucking a chair or railing might be more satisfying. Why don't you just do what the rest of us do when we're stuck? Give your hand some exercise."
He knew better than to suggest that, so I ignored his advice. Masturbating was the very worst solution for me. When I came alone, I would sink into the worst kind of the depression. I shivered just thinking about it. Pamela thought it had something to do with my telepathic powers -- that I needed some kind of psychic feedback, as she liked to call it. Or maybe it was purely psychological, rather than psychic. Andy never understood that, or maybe he just didn't believe it.
"I really have to go tonight," I insisted, choking on my words. I could barely talk. "I can't keep making mistakes by trying to keep my feelings bottled up."
"Keep making mistakes? Did something happen already, Linda?"
Suddenly I started crying. I didn't realize how distressed I was until just then. I was terrified that I had already blown everything. Tomorrow, whatever respect Andrew or Clark might have had for me would be gone. All of Earth would wish me dead, so they could spit on my grave.
"Hey, Linda? You there?" Andy asked.
I nodded, forgetting that I was talking on the phone. He sounded concerned, and that made me feel a little better.
"Listen, Linda, it's OK. We'll meet you at the Kindling Klub in a half hour. Okay???"
"Yes, thanks," I said, while wiping my tears away, and I hung up the phone.
I took off my wig and cape and the remains of my shirt. I stood naked in front of my mirror and saw myself as if from a distance. I watched my pussy swelling and oozing, like it had a mind of its own. My nipples were hard as steel, just waiting to be touched. The scars on my neck were red and on fire. My whole body was flushed with blood and tingled like a live wire.
For the longest time, I was rebelling against Andrew and Clark, but I didn't realize that my real master was this body. I always obeyed it's will and fed it's insatiable appetites, and now it had led me to ruin.
I shattered the mirror with my fist. Seven years of bad luck didn't sound so bad, knowing my life was already over.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Lou, the owner of the Kindling Klub (and my other boss) spat as soon as I entered the building.
"I was sick the past couple of nights," I replied.
"Too sick to call in?"
"I was really sick," I insisted. "I'm sorry."
"Jeez, you know you and that fucking vampire really screwed me this weekend?" The boss waving his finger in my face like a gun. "We lost a shit-load of money!"
I slapped his hand away from my face. "Listen, Louis, I said I was sorry, but I really was sick. If you want to fire me, then just fire me."
My boss just glared for several seconds. He was so pissed that I thought he really might do it, but he had just enough intelligence to hold back. "You're on the side stage tonight. Get to work."
That was the only way he dared punish me. The side stages meant less control, fewer customers, and less money. I could barely move much less dance on the five foot square table. While I didn't feel up to center stage tonight, I still took offense.
I stormed past him, past the bar, straight to the dressing room. I slammed the door behind me and paused in the middle of the room, closing my eyes. I felt my emotions boiling over.
What did I expect, anyway? Lou was a real asshole. He never really liked me. He just liked the money I brought in.
Oh, no you don't, Linda! I closed my eyes and shook my head. You aren't gonna cry here! Not over this! It's time to take command of your emotions. Stop being a slave!
"Are you OK, Linda?"
I was so upset, I hadn't noticed Tina standing there, just a few feet away, applying her make-up. We were not friends. My success as a stripper often came at her expense and at the expense of the other strippers, so her show of concern surprised me. I must have seemed in really sorry shape to bring out her kind side.
I nodded. "I'm OK, thanks. It's just that . . . that bastard! He's stuck me on the side stages tonight."
"Oh, that's all? Now you know how the rest of us feel most of the time." Tina said laughing, but then she put her hand gently on my shoulder. "But really, don't get so upset, the side stages aren't that bad. And everybody knows you're the best; you'll be back in the spotlight tomorrow night."
I felt my anxiety melt when Tina touched me, and I knew she could feel my reaction. I could see the confusion in her eyes. I've learned to recognize that look. People never know quite what to think when they've just read my mind.
"Thank you. You've made me feel a lot better," I said with a smile and a sigh of relief.
"You're . . . welcome," she stammered, before heading for the door, suddenly in a hurry.
I was rather surprised myself, not so much that she read my mind but that just feeling her touch could ease so much of the pain and loneliness I was feeling. Was this evidence of that psychic feedback that Pam talked about? Or perhaps I just underestimated the power of normal human touch and how much I needed to feel appreciated.
It occurred to me that's really why I came here tonight. My body was aching to have sex, but I didn't have to go on stage to fill that need. I needed something deeper, something more emotional. Maybe I was sick for feeling this way, but my fans always made me feel loved and appreciated.
But how loving and appreciative would they be if I greeted them looking like this? I thought as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I couldn't remember ever looking so tired and pale. Apparently the secret to my beauty was in my Kryptonian blood.
A five minute hot shower put the color back in my skin, and a touch of makeup helped liven me up -- and hide the scars on my neck.
Then, after squeezing my body into a bathing suit that made my former Supergirl costume seem like a Sunday school dress by comparison, I smiled at myself in the mirror.
I thought that if I could just smile, I could forget the disaster in Midvale. If I could just dance, I could forget all about tomorrow.
I was ready to perform. I opened the dressing room door and headed for my stage.
I wasn't ready.
I stopped dead in my tracks ten feet away from the stage, but it was too late. Andrew was waiting for me at the side stage, as he promised me over the phone. But he brought Clark, Brian and Selina with him, which I didn't expect. We noticed each other at the same instant.
What was going on?
They knew! Of course, they knew, I thought. How could I be so stupid! Andrew had all kinds of intelligence at his disposal. Clark was a reporter for a major paper. Brian had his police connections. It wouldn't take an hour for a school principal in Midvale to call the police or the Daily Planet.
My body went aquiver, right down to my bare feet. Were my friends all ganging up on me? Were they here to arrest me?
I took a step back as they approached. I was on the edge of panic. "What do you want?"
"What do you think?" Selina frowned. "My, do you look like a cat in the corner.
That's exactly how I felt. I stood paralyzed as she reached out to me, hypnotized by the twinkling of her diamond necklace. She was overdressed in a stunningly beautiful black silk dress and four inch heels. She towered over me. When she touched my cheek, I leaned into her, to feel her embrace and to seek her protection from the wrath I feared was imminent.
"You're not playing fair, sweetie," she said, stroking my hair with one hand and holding me close with the other. "You know I have a soft spot in my heart for helpless looking strays. That vampire really must have scared you."
I looked up at her hopefully. "Is that why you are all here? Because of the vampire?"
"Mmmm, yes and no," she said with a sly smile, and her hand slid down from my shoulder to rest suggestively on my hip. "Andy invited me out to a comedy club tonight. You know Andy -- he's either trying to get me in jail or get me in bed. Anyway, I was about to turn him down, when you called. Watching you strip sounds like so much more fun than listening to some buffoon do Eddie Murphy, and besides, Andy's pretty useless in bed without you around."
Andrew glared at Selina. "Will you get your mind off pussies and cats already? We are here to catch a vampire, not for the sex show."
"Blah, blah, blah, vampires. Just another man pretending to be a rodent pretending to be a bird. Don't worry, Lin, I've dealt with these bat-men before," Selina reassured me, as she slid her hand over my ass.
"She wouldn't have to worry, if she'd just keep her pants on," Clark muttered, staring at Selina's hand. "And you aren't helping."
Brian cut in, "You don't have to worry anyway, Cupcake. He won't even get close to you. We've got cops near every entrance, armed with holy water and wooden stakes. We think if he strikes at all, he'll strike tonight. He won't be able to resist for very long. He hasn't fed in over eighty hours. "
Clark finally looked at me. I could feel his anger, but I didn't know if it was directed at me or at Jim. "If he sneaks in somehow, I won't need any stakes to pummel his sorry ass. Whether it's your Kryptonian blood or your Kryptonian pussy he craves, he won't getting any. I'll rip his heart out first, and ask him questions later."
I wondered if he was trying to make me feel better or worse.
"He can't help what he is," I said, then paused as Selina's finger tips lightly stroked up my spine. "He couldn't control his hunger. Why don't we just put him in jail, where he can't hurt anyone?"
Brian's eyes opened wide in shock. " How can you feel sorry for him, after what he did to you? He certainly didn't give you the same consideration. He's not even human, therefor he has no rights. We ought to destroy him while we have the chance, in my opinion."
"Hey, Linda!" yelled Louis, my boss, from halfway across the club. "You were called on stage five minutes ago. Get the fuck up there."
This was very strange and awkward. Standing on the stage, my first thought was to cover myself, not to throw off what little clothing I had on. I felt shy at the weirdest times.
Undressing before friends was harder than undressing before strangers, especially when one of those friends was like a brother or a cousin to me. Especially when that one friend might never forgive me for the things I've done.
But just being on stage started my juices flowing. I felt naughty at the weirdest times, too.
Maybe that was because Selina could barely keep her hands off me since we met, and now that I was on stage, she was pondering me like I was catnip.
I looked at her, away from Clark, as I unclasped my bra, leaving it dangling in the air, as I covered my tits with both hands. It was a typical stripper pose, though I covered them out of embarrassment rather than for effect. My nipples were very hard, like twin rubies.
I tried to ignore Clark, and what he was thinking about me, and what he would think about me tomorrow, as I set my breasts free.
Likewise, Clark was trying to ignore me. He chatted with Andrew and Brian, as if I wasn't there.
How could we ignore each other? He was sitting at the edge of the tiny stage. He was watching me out of the corners of his eyes. I could feel it. Didn't he know that I could read his mind, too? I could sense him smelling me. We listened to each others' hearts as they raced.
If I could feel his reluctant yet firm attention, no doubt he could feel me igniting in reaction. He could see my skin blushing with his mind -- he didn't need his eyes.
Still, Clark pretended I wasn't there. He was staring at Andrew, arguing passionately that Holy Water would never work against a vampire. It couldn't put out his fire.
I pretended to pretend he wasn't there, but he was foremost on my mind and he knew it. I gazed past Selina at the flashing colored lights, as I peeled away my bikini bottom, wondering if Clark and Andrew were watching.
They were. They stopped talking. I stopped breathing. Selina purred.
I closed my eyes, and I saw what Clark was seeing. All of his attention was focused on one drop, hanging from my pussy lips, like a little boy watching ice cream drip from a cone.
I could feel him getting harder. He could see me getting wetter.
And for one brief moment, we both knew exactly what the other wanted.
All I could hear was the song playing on center stage. Tina's song. Something by the Police -- a popular band in this club. Sting was singing, "I'll be wrapped around your finger."
Mmmm, that sounded like a good idea. My inhibitions were burning up in flames. I kicked the damp bikini bottom into Selina's lap, then pivoted on one foot, landing on my knees with my ass facing Clark. I spread my legs slightly, so I could peek at him from between, like looking under a bridge. That's what Brian and some of the guys called it: The bridge pose. I traced inside the arch with my fingertips, starting with my ankle, quickly past my calves, then slowing over my inner thigh, and settling on my wet pussy lips. Clark was looking right at me, right at my fingertip, imagining that my finger was his finger, imagining that my finger was his tongue, imagining that my finger was his dick. I closed my eyes and opened my mind. I let his imagination guide my finger.
He started off slowly, gliding around my sex like he was learning to use a Ouija board. His touch was light as a feather, as he traveled from my asshole, around my triangle, spreading my juices in his path, until he found direction, and fastened onto my clit.
I took a quick breath, as my belly trembled. Clark could sense the flood starting in my core before it flowed from my pussy lips. I could feel Clark's mouth watering. The sensation was so strong, it was like I could taste his mouth. He raised his hands to touch me, to join his fingers with mine.
My hand jerked, as if in reflex, and then I felt two fingers, his or mine, it didn't matter, plunging deep inside me, trying to fill me. I cried out, "Oh, yes!"
My legs collapsed, and I tumbled over onto my back, with my feet falling off the edge of the table, to either side of Clark's shoulders
"Linda's bridge is falling down," I whispered, giggling. It was a bad pun that usually earned smiles from my audience. But this wasn't my usual audience, and it just sounded stupid at the moment.
Clark's eyes were ravenous and his hands were trembling, as he stared at my pussy shining up at him, like dinner was just served. Is everything to your liking, Sir? Do you like it rare? I opened my pussy with two fingers, showing him how pink and tender and juicy I was inside. Do you like it alive? Be careful, the food is very hot! "Oh…" I sighed, reaching out to Clark with my other hand. I wanted to be the best meal he ever had.
But I was pushing him too hard, and I could feel him pulling away.
"She wants you," whispered Brian in Clark's ear. "Go ahead."
I could almost hear a door slamming shut, as Clark glared at Brian.
In one second, the heat of his desire turned to anger. The power of his emotion hit me like an explosion. He grabbed my legs and pushed me back several feet on the stage. Any normal woman would have been injured by the tightness of his grip or the impact of his attack. He did no harm to my bones or my flesh, but the intense wave of his fury collapsed on me, crushing my heart like a vice. I rolled onto my stomach and closed my eyes.
"Hey! Settle down!" Andrew and Selina said at once to Clark.
I could feel his stare burning my back. I could feel his anger marching through my mind, now that I had let him inside, trampling out my thoughts.
"Hey, Clark, snap out of it!" Andrew said.
I felt for the edge of the stage with my hands, afraid that I might fall off.
After several seconds, Clark replied, "I'm . . . I'm alright."
I pulled my knees up to my chest. I heard a new song playing on center stage. I tried think of the words. I tried to hum the music.
"Hey, sugar-cookie, you OK ?" asked Brian.
I shook my head, not knowing how I felt.
Selina climbed up on the stage and sat down beside me. When I didn't move, she whispered in my ear. "Did he really hurt you?" She held my shoulders and pulled me up into her embrace.
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Clark staring at me. He was still fuming.
Tears streamed from my eyes, as an upwelling of pain and fears tore into me, replacing the shock, and I wept in Selina's arms like a child.
No one spoke for a long time, until Clark finally said without a trace of anger in his voice, "Common Kara, don't cry, I'll help you off this stage." He reached out to take my hand.
I slapped his hand away and yelled so loud that everyone in the bar could hear, but in a language only Clark could understand. "You want to help me, Kal-El? You only want to help me do what you want me to do. You want me to give up my life and stop embarrassing you. You want me to hide from the world. You don't care what I want."
"You don't know what you want!" Clark yelled back.
Several patrons of the club were migrating to the tiny side stage, curious about the commotion. Andrew was visibly concerned. "Now, Linda," he said firmly. "You are upset. Don't say or do anything you'll regret in the morning."
I buried my face in Selina's shoulder. "It doesn't matter what I do now. None of it matters. I'll never be able to show my face or look at any of you again."
"What do you mean?" Clark asked.
"You did something major today, didn't you?" Andrew asked, with a touch of fear in his voice. His eyes opened wide with shock as he looked into my mind.
"Shhh, don't worry about it," Selina whispered as she pulled me up and coddled me. She held me gently and stroked my hair, petting me like I was one of her cats. Until one of her hands landed on my breast and teased my nipples.
I squirmed. "What are you doing?"
"Shhh, just relax," she whispered. "Trust me."
Selina turned my body so that I was facing my friends, and trapped one of my legs between hers, exposing my pussy and my tears, not just to my friends but to a dozen other onlookers as well. I felt like jumping up and running away, but then suddenly I could barely see, as Selina covered my eyes with her hands.
"What are you doing?" I asked more urgently.
"You said you couldn't show your face to us anymore, " she said playfully, sounding less like a friend and more like a enemy. She uncovered my eyes, and reached down my body with her hands, pinching one of my nipples with one hand, while the other pulled on my knee and felt down my thigh. "None of us came here to see your face, anyway."
"Are you going crazy?" I asked, stopping her hand before it got wet, when her other hand caught me by surprise, diving right into my pussy. "Oh, please, this . . . Clark is looking . . ."
The Catwoman purred, "I thought you said nothing mattered anymore. So why not just lean back . . ."
She slid out from behind me, and laid my back on the hard wood . . .
"open wide . . ."
She dilated my pussy lips . . .
"and relax . . ."
She kissed me full on the mouth, preventing any further objection . . .
"forget Clark, forget tomorrow . . ."
She made forgetting easy, when she filled my mouth with her tongue and took my breath away. I couldn't feel Clark's angry stare. The only thing that scared me now was that Selina's fingers would stop before I came. The only sound I could hear was Tina's music in the background, putting me under a spell.
Mick Jagger was singing: There’s a girl who once had me down, under my thumb…
Selina hovered over me sideways, kissing me while squeezing my breasts. I started to close my legs, but she grabbed my knee and whispered: "Let them look."
There’s a girl who once pushed me around, Under my thumb…
Then Selina got up on her knees and lifted her dress over her head, completely naked underneath, except for her necklace and shoes. Her body was very different from mine, with fuller breasts, longer limbs, and a thin, black bush. She looked so beautiful, more like a super-woman than I did.
It’s down to me, the difference in the clothes she wears, down to me…
"Now you've been such a baby, I'm gonna treat you like one," she said, as she straddled me, her pussy against my belly. "Now suck on these." She lowered her nipples to my face, and I wrapped my lips and my arms around her, pulling her close.
The change has come, she’s, Under my thumb…
"Keep your legs open," she commanded, and she turned to face the crowd that had gathered. "What do you guys need, a written invitation?"
Under my thumb, Is a girl who’s just changed her ways…
She didn't need to tell them twice. Two hands grabbed my legs, while someone else attacked my pussy like a wolf, with his tongue and teeth. I cried out, on the verge of coming.
"Oh, stop crying," Selina complained. "Aren't my breasts enough for you? Let go of me, and lie down."
The way she does just what she’s told, down to me . . .
Selina crawled over my body, I closed my eyes, as her bush tickled my face and my nose slid into her damp cave. "This is what you want, isn't it?" She grabbed me by the hair and stuffed my face in her pussy.
Under my thumb, Is a Siamese cat of a girl . . .
She purred as I burrowed inside, filling her with my tongue, sucking on her lips, drinking her nectar.
With my free hand, I grabbed the hair of the man between my legs, and pulled him in tight, wanting to drown him in my juices.
Under my thumb, She’s the sweetest pet in the world. . .
Then everything got very confusing. I felt hands and lips swarming over me, licking, squeezing, biting. Someone grabbed Selina, pulled her off of me, and climbed on top of her, while someone else pulled my ass over the edge of the stage and turned me over, and pierced me from behind.
I could barely hear the music anymore over the groans and heavy breathing and Selina singing out in pleasure. All I could see for several seconds was hands and brief glimses of men's faces. I closed my eyes.
And then I was dragged completely off the stage, onto the seats, and I was being fucked from every direction, and twisted in unnatural positions. Men were pulling on my legs like I was a wishbone, while one lucky man plunged inside.
Someone else grabbed my head off the seat, and pressed his dick to my cheek. I opened my mouth, and took him inside. He pumped my face, while someone pumped me at the other end, and a third person sucked on my nipples, and a fourth sucked on my big toes. I felt someone's tongue on my neck, tickling my scar, pushing me over the edge. A jolt of pleasure shot through my body like electricity. I moaned and spasmed and my mind exploded with psychic energy.
At the same time, Selina's song reached a crescendo. One anonymous dick slammed against my throat and erupted, while another sprayed in my pussy. Someone even came on my breasts, as I shared the most intense orgasm I'd ever had with everyone around me.
Followed a moment later by an orgasm far more intense, as I felt my body yanked through the air. My face fell onto the seats, cum dripping from my mouth, and a dick crashing into me from behind. I think I cried out either in pain or pleasure, as this dick of steel drove into my cervix, and his hips slammed into my ass, faster and faster, until my body felt like it was ripping apart.
I screamed.
Then all I could see was a bright light, like a flash, as my heart seemed to stop, and my body dissolved in extreme pleasure, fading into oblivion.
I was floating in space, surrounded with warmth and peace, like a cat on a window sill, basking in sunlight. That's how I felt. The world was gone, and I was just "there", somewhere, nowhere, full of light and warmth and love. I felt free and safe.
Then a form took shape in the light. A voice spoke my name, my true name, and I melted into a tear.
"Daddy!" I exclaimed with a smile, but I shivered nervously.
He stepped out of the light and embraced me. "My dear Kara, what's wrong? Why are you afraid of me?"
"I'm sorry, Daddy, but I . . . I failed you."
He smiled at me. "You couldn't possibly fail me. What ever gave you such a crazy idea?"
"I . . . didn't keep my clothes on. I couldn't have failed any worse. I took them off in public, in front of a hundred witnesses. And please forgive me, but I even tried to seduce Kal-El." I held to my father tightly, and prepared myself for his wrath.
Which never came.
"Oh, Kara, you never would listen to me. You offer your love to the most callous strangers. Your skin is invulnerable, yet somehow you always find a way to get hurt. I only want what's best for you, my daughter, but if you won't take my advice, at least take my love, and try to be happy."
I looked up into his eyes. "So you forgive me?"
"Stop worrying about me. Forgive yourself."
I woke up to the sound of Calvin complaining that he was hungry. Rolling over in bed, I glanced at the silent alarm clock beside my bed. It was 11:55, almost noon.
My mind was in a daze, and it wasn't the usual daze that follows a long slumber. I couldn't remember anything that happened last night.
I looked down at myself, and my confusion grew. The blankets were tucked in around me, though I usually just pull them over my body. I was wearing a nightgown, though I always slept in the nude.
But I felt really good. I mean, damn good, like I was still asleep, and dreaming that wonderful dream . . . what was it about? The memory was fading already.
Then I noticed how sore my ass was, and I had a slight bump on my head. Memories of last night flickered in my brain, like still photos. I cringed when I saw Clark's face, glaring at me. Then I smiled when I thought about Selina. I laughed when I remembered coming, and feeling my body covered with . . .
I opened my gown and looked at my chest and belly, but I was clean, as though I had just bathed. How could this be? How did I even get home last night?
The last thing I remembered was . . . I wasn't sure. I remembered having the most intense orgasm I ever had -- or could even imagine having.
I stepped out of bed and walked into the kitchen, with Calvin trailing behind me. I saw cups half full of coffee sitting on the kitchen table. Something else happened yesterday. What was it?
I poured some cat chow in a bowl. "Hmm, you sure are hungry," I said. Calvin rubbed up against my legs, licking his teeth in anticipation. He looked up at me eagerly.
He was looking right up my gown.
I stumbled backwards and dropped the plastic bowl. The cat food scattered on the floor. Calvin streaked into the other room and hid, forgetting his hunger, while my memories of yesterday flooded back.
I paced nervously into the living room and switched on the TV. I bit my fingernails, as the old set warmed up.
The sound came on first, with the voice of the news anchor:
" . . . the Girl of Steel in a whole new light. Several parents toted cameras and camcorders to the Midvale football game, recording the entire event. I should warn you, these images are quite graphic. Here with us today is Doctor Richard Johnson, an expert on comparative physiology?"
"Thank you, Jack," began a new voice. "These images may be disturbing, but they are a boon to our understanding of Kryptonian physiology."
The black TV screen lit up with an image of me teetering on the edge of the scaffold, with Curt's arms around me. The camera zoomed in as Curt tore away my shirt, exposing both breasts and squeezing them in his hands. I nearly fell off my seat. The image wasn't fuzzy or bouncing around, as was the footage from a few days ago, when I was being carried to the ambulance. I could even see the little bumps around my areolas. I watched myself throw my head back, offering up my throat in an unmistakable gesture of passion. The two scars were plainly visible on my neck, before Curt covered them with his mouth.
Suddenly the camera looked down, and I couldn't breathe as I saw my leg being lifted in the air, and Mark tearing away my skirt, showing me in all my dripping, aching glory. The video kept on rolling, but now in slow motion, as Mark's fingers pressed into me, rubbing my clit, like it was the spigot of a fountain, sending my juices gushing over his hand and down my thigh.
The video slowed down to a still frame.
"Here we see Supergirl's vulva," said the doctor, as if anyone had any doubts. "Notice the complete lack of hair around the labia or anywhere on her body, for that matter. We can't even see any follicles, suggesting that the hair was removed at the source, or perhaps that Kryptonian females lack body hair by nature. Also notice the slight tissue swelling here and here, and the extreme flow of vaginal juices, far beyond that of an ordinary woman, suggestive of an enhanced sexual response. As we move in closer . . ."
The video switched to slow motion, as Mark brought both hands into the action, grabbing my pussy lips between his fingers and opening me up wide. Then the low resolution video tape image was replaced by a high resolution photograph from a slightly different angle. The entire screen was filled with my open hole.
I was feeling dizzy. Even I hadn't seen my pussy in such detail before, and now the whole world was seeing the most intimate parts of me during their lunch break.
This wasn't possible. I couldn't be seeing this.
A pointer panned over the photograph, and settled in the middle. "Notice these tiny pink folds draped over the vaginal tract, and the smooth contour leading up to the labia. All typically human in size, shape and color, as are the clitoris and anus, which we will see in next slide -- there. Gynecologically speaking, Supergirl is just like any of you women out there, except that her sexual organs operate in overdrive. I hesitate to guess how this might affect her psychologically."
I started breathing again when the video stopped, and the anchor was back on the screen, front and center, adjusting his tie, but maintaining a straight face. "Thank you doctor. Now we take you to Midvale where we have an exclusive interview with Mark Kupperberg, whose fingers you just saw in the last three slides. Mark, we know that Supergirl looks like a normal woman, but we also know that she has that invulnerable skin. We are all wondering, what does she feel like?"
Mark's face was one big smile. "She was totally hot, and her [bleep] was dripping . . ."
"Yes, yes," Jack cut in, "but we can't use language like that on television. Could you describe her in more polite terms."
Mark stared at the camera quizzically. "Well, she . . . uh . . . uh . . . smelled really good."
I shut off the TV, unable to watch anymore, and I started laughing in bewilderment. Either I was going insane or the world was.
"It's not quite what you expected, is it?" said a voice from behind me. I spun around to see Andrew standing at the front door. He was wearing the same suit that he wore at the bar last night, and I could see from his eyes that he hadn't slept last night. "When did you wake up?"
"Just a few minutes ago. I think I woke up, anyway, and I didn't just dream what I saw."
Andrew shook his head. "Nope, it was real, and if you think that was a trip, take a look at the front page of the Daily Planet."
He dropped it in my lap. The headline read. "SUPERGIRL EXPOSED", with a black & white photo of me taking flight, wearing only my cape. Clark wrote the story. I read the first paragraph:
"MIDVALE: Yesterday afternoon, Supergirl offered the world a brief glimpse into Kryptonian biology, while at the same time demonstrating a power she had kept secret until now -- a super-sex drive."
I laughed with tears in my eyes, and asked Andrew. "Would you please tell me what's going on? "
Andrew smiled as he flopped on the sofa beside me. "Damage control. The public relations equivalent to the Hail Mary pass. After what happened yesterday and last night, we didn't have any other options. We threw up a prayer, and it seems to be working so far."
"What are you talking about? What happened last night, anyway?"
""What is the last thing you remember?"
"You know," I shifted in my seat and smiled despite my anxiety. "In the bar. I remember making love with Selina, when things got a little crazy and turned into an orgy. Men were climbing all over me. Then they were cumming all over me. Makes me wet just thinking about it. But then something really intense happened. Someone attacked me like an animal." A shiver ran down my spine. "Oh, my God! Was it Jim?"
Andrew was surprised. "Jim? The vampire? No, no, Jim never showed up last night. In fact, there were no suspicious murders throughout all of Metropolis. It's been several days now without incident, and I'm thinking that Jim may have skipped town. No, the person who attacked you last night was Clark."
"Clark?" I repeated his name in a whisper, as I thought about what he did to me. My ass was so sore, just sitting felt uncomfortable.
"Yeah, the mild mannered reporter really lost it," Andrew said casually, as he pulled a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket. "O'Neil has been telling me for some time about those shows you put on -- about how you magically seduce your audience, with both your body and your mind. But putting you and Clark together was like mixing fuel and fire, and the rest of us were caught in the psychic flames, including some of the other dancers. Clark somehow held it all inside him, but when you came, it set him off, and he just exploded, throwing everyone aside as he went for you. No one saw what happened next. It was like a tornado tore through the club. When things finally settled, everyone saw Clark standing over you, his glasses crushed on the floor, his suit torn open with the 'S' revealed, and his red shorts down around his knees."
I covered my mouth. "Oh, no! This is terrible! He must want to kill me."
"Actually, that's exactly what we thought he did. You two were at opposite ends of the power spectrum. He experienced a power surge at the same time that you lost all of yours. In the end, you were lying on top of a wrecked bench seat with a bump to your head and no pulse. You gave us all a terrible scare for the second time this week. But after a minute or two, your pulse miraculously returned, and you were breathing regularly again.
"Then things got really weird," Andrew continued, and took a long drag from his cigarette. "We left O'Neil to clean things up as best he could in the club, while Clark, Selina and I drove you home. With you resting safely in her arms, Selina began raving about what a great time she had, and how she wanted to do it again sometime soon. Well, you know Selina. Clark's problems didn't mean a thing to her. He was just a 'big party-pooper' -- those were her words.
"Clark and I went over the facts, trying to come up with some kind of strategy. You know, maybe we could cover it up. Many of the club patrons were cops, and they were the only people who recognized Clark Kent. If we could just keep them in line, we might be able to preserve his secret identity. But dozens of other witnesses had already left the club, and no doubt were running around, blabbering about how Superman fucked a stripper to death.
"And just when things didn't seem like they could get any worse, I got a call on my cellular from the agency," Andrew smiled and shook his head. He took my hand in his and kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you Linda for making my life so interesting. Apparently dozens of eye witnesses were carrying photographs and videos of you-know-what to the networks, and NBC had just decided to show the videos on the morning show."
I interrupted him. "Is that legal? How could they do that?"
"Supposedly, it's totally legal because, according to the law, you and Clark aren't human. I know it sounds silly, but it has been a convenient loophole that is now firmly rooted in law. It allows you to arrest criminals without having to stand trial or go through the usual legal process. But it also frees you from the decency laws. The same laws that apply to animals apply to you, so you can stroll down the streets of Metropolis naked and piss on fire hydrants, if you want.
"The networks were going crazy. They had all this video of you -- some of the most erotic footage ever filmed, and legally it was fair game, as long as they purported to be educating the public, rather than serving some prurient interests."
"Mmm, I like that word. Prurient," I said with a smile. I squeezed his hand gently and leaned into him.
Andrew smiled back a little uncomfortably, and he moved his hand onto my knee. "You should like it. It describes you in a nutshell. Your prurient interests are causing a rage throughout the media. Almost every network is now showing the video. Tomorrow, they'll be arguing about whether they did the right thing. Then next week, the public will be taking sides. Some people will start taking off their clothes in public, following your example, thinking: 'If Supergirl can do it, why can't I?' A few months from now, the supreme court will probably have to re-evaluate all the decency laws. All because of your prurient interests, and a media governed by competition rather than common sense."
"So that's why Clark was writing about my 'super-sex' drive?" I asked in disbelief. "Because of competition from other newspapers?"
"No, that was my idea. Damage control. It means you weren't responsible for your actions, that you couldn't control yourself. After what I'd seen last night, it's clear no one in your psychic range can control themselves, either. In a few days, Superman will probably be in the same boat, having to explain why he lost control with a stripper."
"So," I began nervously, afraid to look at Andrew. "You guys aren't angry at me?"
Andrew shook his head, as his hand moved up my thigh a few inches. "Now why would we be angry? Just because both of your secret identities are in jeopardy? Just because the SSA will probably fire me over this? Just because you've made a mockery of the constitution?"
I shrank away from him, as his hand caressed my inner thigh, saying something very different from his words. "Are you sure you aren't angry?"
He put out his cigarette and pulled my feet up onto his lap. "Let me put it this way. Last week I attended a public demonstration for a group of Nazis in Gotham, because the constitution lets them show their hate to the world, in all its ugliness. I felt terrible, but it was part of my job to defend their rights."
"I don't understand," I replied, as I rubbed the bulge in his pants with my toes.
"What I'm saying is that I'd rather defend your right to show your love to the world, in all it's glorious beauty." Andrew opened up my gown and stared at my already glistening pussy.
"Is that what this is?" I asked, as I closed my eyes, bit my lip, and showcased myself for him with my fingertips. "Is this love?"
Andrew pushed my legs apart and kneeled on the floor between them.
"Maybe not love. But I still want to defend your right to show your prurient interests to the world. I've been watching the news all morning, just thinking about defending your rights."
I giggled and then moaned as his tongue slipped inside me. I buried my fingers in his hair. "Oh, please, defend my rights!"