Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Some Like Pandora (A story of family)

                                      Freezing wind howled as the driver-less train hurtled down the tracks. Through the gap in the wall of the passenger car`she could see clearly the huge gap the explosion on the trestle had caused. There was no trestle. It was just gone.
“Sorry I won’t be around to see you off, Miss Lane.” said the bald man. He threw the parachute straps around his shoulders with a deftness his big size would not have hinted at.

“You’re such a class act, Luthor!” she yelled as he jumped into space.

The car lurched and became airborne. She felt gravity abandon her as her heels left the ground. Her head crashed into the hand rail of a passenger seat and she crumpled to the floor in a heap. She stared numbly at a wad of chewing gum someone had stuck under the seat.

So this is how it ends. What a stupid way to die.

A screech of impatiently tearing steel; the roof of the passenger car tore away. She saw only a flash of blue and red and then the wind was whipping in her face as the ground dropped away below. His arms were holding her tight to his warm chest. She pressed her ear to the bright red and yellow S sewn of an alien made cloth. She could hear his heart pound.

“Your head is bleeding, Miss Lane.”

“Call me Lois,” she said.

As the whip whipped her suit jacket she felt the hard object resting inside. A perfume bottle she had pick pocketed from Lex Luthor before he’d caught onto her. In the tiny antique spray bottle was a florescent pink liquid that glowed in the dark. A very rare form of kryptonite Lex Luthor had killed 27 men to acquire from a lead lined vault here in Switzerland. A pink form of kryptonite Luthor had wanted to . . . experiment with.

As they dropped down into the rooftops of Metropolis, she recognized her own neighborhood rolling by beneath. Of course, he had been to her condo once before when she interviewed him for the New Yorker. They had been alone in her living room for an hour. But nothing had happened. Not that time.

Her arm was wrapped tightly around his waist. She shifted her arm down and her hand began to wander to the buckle of his belt. She traced the edge of the bright red tighty-whiteys. He squirmed as he felt where her hand was going, but she slid her cold fingers deep under and between his thighs, felt the heat between his legs and held them there. Felt the two large objects beneath the cloth nesting like eggs in a nest in her palm.

She kept her hand there. Kept moving her fingers gently over the warm large eggs, caressing and cajoling.

One thought followed another. And a question. Has anybody ever fucked this good man? This proper gentleman, has he ever gotten laid in return for all his trouble? He never has a girlfriend. Is he gay?

“Miss Lane,” he said, and suddenly shivered. “I don’t think that’s socially appropriate. Perhaps you’re in shock and need some rest.”

If I fucked Superman, would I be his first?

I’m going to fuck Superman. Or bust.

“So come and take a nap with me when this is over,” she said. “And call me Lois, goddammit.”

“Lois.” His legs parted a little as he tipped vertical coming in like a bird for a gentle landing. Her hand moved up - and there it was. The mystery had been solved. He had a cock. Like any terrestrial man. So the male penis was a universal standard of the cosmos. It was mystical to think of. Male and female. Vishnu and Shiva. Anywhere you went in the universe organisms in all shapes and forms were putting strange penises into strange pussies. Even on poor belated Krypton.

I’m going to fuck Superman. Me. I’m going to fuck Superman. It’s going to happen, so help me God.

Her hands roamed over the cloth of chest as the air became warmer and damper. When I get home, I’m going to see him without his costume. I’m going to see him with his dick standing up just for me. There’s a magic moment when you know which way things are going. Things are going my way.

She felt the weight in her pocket. Lex Luthor, what were you up to?

She caressed his cock. It was hard now. Definitely. What did a super-boner look like? She wanted terribly to know. When I get home, I’m going to watch him pull those red jockey shorts down and guide him in. What will that be like? How will it feel to have a man of steel slipping it in? An alien erection? Like those women abductees who claimed extraterrestrials had performed sexual experiments on. This was the extraterrestrial they all wanted to bed. When we get home the big blue boy scout is going to slip that thing in and get himself laid. It’s decided.

“Lois, I don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“Yes, you do. You blue boy scout. That’s what the other clown-suits call you, isn’t it? The Big Blue Boy Scout. Are you a boy scout?”

“We’re here now, Lois.”

She felt him slow, hang in the air like a god and drop lightly to her patio. “Come in and have a drink,” she said, slurring the last word and then - suddenly the world went black.

She opened her eyes laying on her bed with a wet cloth on her forehead. Her shoes were placed neatly by the door. Sitting in a chair next to her shoes reading The Atlantic magazine was the blue boy scout. He looked up.

“I wasn’t sure what to do,” he said. “I thought of taking you to emergency but you didn’t seem that bad. Probably the thin air above 10,000 feet. Sometimes I forget.”

She felt strangely clear headed. That had been a good rest. The top two buttons of her blouse were undone. Had he done that? To give her air? Or something else? She sat up and remembered. “Can you hand me my suit jacket?”

He stood up, eager to please, neatly folded the magazine and put it on the chair. He took the suit jacket from the closet where he had hung it for her.

Standing at a courtly distance, he held the jacket out to her and waited. She took the jacket and fished around in the pocket. It was there. She wrapped her hand around it and hid it in her palm. She tossed the jacket on the floor and stood up slowly. “I need to throw some water on my face and I’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure? I can dial 911.”

“No, no. Relax. Finish your magazine if you want. Stay there for a minute.”

She closed the bathroom door behind her and heard the creak of the chair and the rustle of the magazine pages. You tell him to stay put and he stays put. Goddamn, she thought. If only they made guys like this on Earth.

She took the tiny bottle out and switched off the light. It glowed like radioactive Pepto Bismol. Bright enough to see her face in the mirror. The wrinkle lines around her eyes. Half heartedly looking for the right man. A string of metro-sexual male egos barely worth a one night toss. And right outside her door, fifteen feet exactly from her bed, probably reading the sports page, was the man himself.

She popped the top off the tiny perfume bottle and sniffed.

It was unearthly. Jesus Christ, like cat musk and roses. It stank. It positively reeked and she had held it so close to her nose she’d gotten some on it. Still. It was unique. She held it up to the decolletage below her throat and gave it a squeeze. The air was filled with cat reek and she felt her stomach roll. The base of her throat glowed faintly.

Oh fuck this stuff.

She put the bottle in the medicine cabinet, turned on the lights and slashed water on herself but the stink was still there.

I just now blew it. I had a good thing going and now I stink.

She opened the door and stepped into the room.

He looked up from his magazine. His eyes blinked and went a little watery. “Lois?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “So how about some hot wings or something before you go?”

“I’m not hungry,” he said. He dropped the magazine in a heap on the floor. “I’m so glad you’re all right.” Her lifted his nose. “What is that?”

“Just a little dizzy.” She saw the tears welling in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

He stood up slowly, sniffing the air, shaking his head. “I feel like . . . I don’t know. Yes. I need to talk to you. I think. Yes. I never talk to anyone. Not really. No one knows me. But you. I feel so open to you. Like I can let you inside. I’ve never talked like this to anyone before.”

“Superman? What is it?”

“No. I need to confess something.” He came up close to her and his eyes were blazing. “I don’t know why but I just can’t hold these feelings inside any longer, Lois.”

She looked down at his red briefs. It was clear what was on his mind. “Superman I can see exactly how you feel about me.”

“I’m not just Superman,” he said. “Maybe to them. Not to you. Look.” He reached behind his back to a pocket inside his bright hero’s cape. He took out a pair of black horn rimmed glasses. “Watch, Lois.” He unfolded the glasses and put them on.

Lois screamed.

“Clark?? You’re that asshole Clark Kent - No! No!  That's impossible!  I could never fuck Clark! Not in a million years. Take them off. Take them off now! Now!”

Superman snatched the glasses off, shaking and put them back in his cape.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she said gasping. “What a fucking cosmic joke. You’re so spoiling the mood.”

He seemed to sag. She took him in her arms and brought him to the bed. He sat docilely on the edge, suddenly seeming very much like Clark. He sniffed the air and the intensity returned to his eyes. “I’m so open to you,” he said. “I would do anything for you right now.”

“Take off your clothes.”

He dropped the cape from his shoulders, moved to fold it, but an urgency came over him and he dropped it to the floor. He removed his blue top and she took it from him and buried her face in it smelling his skin. He slipped off his boots and he was barefoot. He took the top from her and threw it across the room.

He stood up now wearing only the red briefs and leggings. “What now, Lois? What are we going to do about this?”

She went over to him and went down on her knees. She fumbled with the latch on his belt.

“Tw - twist to the clockwise.” He was shaking from head to foot. He was terrified at the sight of a woman on her knees.


“Call me - “ he swallowed hard and shook his head. His hair tousled in his face. “You can call me by my real name. Only you. Call me Kal-El. Son of Jor-El.”

“Kal-El.” She twisted the buckle clockwise unlatched his belt and gently drew his shorts down. She was looking at it. An extraterrestrial stiffy. The full, thickish hard-on of the man-god guardian of the world.

He was looking down on her in that vulnerable way that made her heart turn flips for him. “That doesn’t bother you does it?” he said. “I can’t help it. I mean, they tried. The doctor, well he couldn’t. He tried. The knife wouldn’t cut the skin. Pa said.”

“Wow,” she whispered. “The uncircumcised Weenie of Steel. Good thing you’re not Jewish.”

“Ma still wanted me to be a doctor.”

“Kal-El. Listen. It’s okay either way, just tell me something. Are you still a virgin?”

He answered with a deep sigh.

She took the hot head of his cock and placed it in her lips, wrapped her tongue around it. It had an odd taste, different from the salt and buttermilk of other men. It was kind of sweet and spicy. Appetizing in a way. She licked around it more and gave it a squeeze and his knees went weak. “I want to be your first,” she said softly.

“You will be.”

She took his hand and guided him to the bed. Suddenly he grabbed her and buried his face between her breasts inhaling deeply. “You smell so . . . Good.”

“Shh.” She lifted his legs up, pushed him down on his back. “Watch.” She did a little strip tease, performing as he watched. First the nylons, moving her hips. Then the blouse. Waving gently in her panties and bra, she turned her back to him and pulled down the bra straps, turned the bra around and unlatched it. She turned to him, holding the bra over her breasts.

“There’s something we need to talk about,” he said.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Just watch.”

She drew aside the bra and let her breasts tumble out. His mouth opened and his eyes stared that hard stare of pure desire. His thick cock began to darked and bob with his heart’s rhythm.

She undulated her hips, raised her arms over her head, tipped her chin and shimmied her breasts, shaking them, feeling the nipples pop out.

“Lois. Have mercy.”

“No mercy, you big,blue virgin boy scout.” She whispered, parting her lips. She hooked her thumbs in her bikini panties, shimmied her hips and the panties down to her ankles. She lifted her foot and deftly tossed her panties onto Kal-El’s face. He clutched them and held them to his nose, inhaling.

She climbed on the bed, put a knee over his leg and straddled him. He looked into her eyes and she saw there not a child of the stars or an Olympian god, but only a man stepping off wide eyed into mystery and starved for bliss. The world was shut out and only the sensual feast of this magnificent invulnerable body existed, a body every woman in the world lusted for. This man she owned.

She slipped his cock deftly into her depths and was gratified to see him twist his hips in pleasure. "That's it," she whispered.  "Popped your cherry, boy scout."

He tried to rise. “I don’t know if this is wise.”

“This is how women have always rewarded the men who rescue them over and over. This is from me to you. Now lay back Big Blue and let mama be good to you.”

She moved her hips, bobbed her pussy up and down over the length of his cock and drank in the look of perfect ecstasy on his face. On his back, lost in pleasure, he looked the same as any man. The thrill of him was knowing he was a man who had lived among the stars, a man who had fallen to earth like an outcast angel.

She lifted her hips until on the tip of his cock was touching the rim of her pussy lips. She made tiny caressing moments that turned his face pink with urgency. He hissed, he thrust his hips up but she kept out of his reach. She savored his sensual torment and suddenly pushed her cunt down, thrusting the length of him deep inside her at once.

“Lois?? LOIS!”

She felt him swell, burst deep inside. A sharp pain. A huge burst of light in her head.

And the rest was silence.

She sighed and sank with her head resting on his breast and her arms around him. His hands roamed gently over her back, caressing her carefully, mindful of his great strength in moments of strong emotion. These creatures, these homo sapiens were so fragile in so many ways. Their bodies. Their hearts. He felt tenderly towards her and towards all his wards on this benighted world. He loved human beings. Though he was an outsider he longed to be one of them and this woman had shown him how, like a revelation from a goddess she had opened the door for this most human of acts and its passion that he had always been taught to fear. Now, he thought, I have become one of them.

He ran his hands over her hair. She lay quiescent and still and he longed to feel her loving hands moving over him again. But they did not. Something warm and wet dropped on his cheek.


It dropped on his cheek again.

“Lois? Lois, are you crying? What’s wrong?”

She said nothing. She did nothing.

He touched his cheek and glanced at his fingertip. Blood, mixed with something gray.

“Lois?” Vacancy. He shook her. “Lois!”

He rolled her empty carcass off of his chest and she flopped limply on the bed. Her eyes were rolled up in her head. A thick trail of scarlet ran from her hairline, across the white of her left eye and over her cheek bone. With his super hearing he heard no heart beat or breath. With his X Ray vision he examined her heart. It was unmoving.

“No,no,no,no.” Ape like he seized her head and picked through her hair until he found the bullet sized hole in the top of her cranium.

“Luthor. Lex Luthor - you did this. You bastard. You murderous evil bastard, you’ve crossed the line. You killed a civilian. You shot my woman.” He jumped to the window and roared. “Are you listening? I’ll find you. And this time its not prison. This time I’ll break every oath I’ve ever made and I swear before the gods of Krypton I will rid this world of you. I will personally tear you to pieces and eat your raw beating heart with my teeth!”

He turned to the nude body in the bed and glanced at the wall above the head board. Between the head board and an oil painting was a strangely shaped pit in the wall surrounded by blood and bone fragments; and something thick and creamy and viscous. Semen.

He looked down at his limp cock from which hung a tiny string of the same thick white semen.

“Oh . . .gosh.”

Tiny holes began to appear in the drywall. The sperm, they were still alive. Kryptonian sperm. Super sperm, drilling through the dry wall. Drilling through the building itself. Escaping.

When he had reached puberty, like most boys he locked himself in the bathroom and thought of his teacher Miss Harmon nude. The ceiling above the toilet filled with small bullet shaped holes. Once he had almost injured his mother upstairs folding clothes. Pa Kent had told him about the birds and the bees and the dangers of a man of steel trying to mate with a woman of Kleenex. Gods did not take mortal wives for a reason.

Dark was falling. Outside the window, thin supersonic streaks of light filled the city night like a tiny meteor shower. The super sperm were loose, nourished by Lois’ blood. They were searching for fertile women. They were searching randomly for wombs.

He watched them travel. There were too many to stop. Nine months from now there would be a baby boom that would knock human evolution sideways.

I’m going to be a super-daddy, he thought.

I’ve always wanted a family.


  1. I knew it would not be a pleasant ending, but I didn't expect the super-sperm to seek wombs of their own. Nice touch.

    Did you ever see the movie Hancock, with Will Smith? He's a reluctant drunkard of a super-hero and he scares the shit out of a hooker he lets take him home when he abruptly pulls out and blasts the roof off of the motel room!

    Sometimes the best fantasies are those we can't really experience, huh?

  2. Garce - you've outdone yourself. On the scale of weird sex stories, one to ten, this is about a fifty!

    Very strange, but in its own way, brilliant.

  3. OMG I'm laughing so hard, that was fucking awesome! Blew the top of her head out. Brilliant! :D

  4. Hi Fiona!

    Yes! I thought that was a really good movie. I remember his argument with the crowd by the railroad tracks because he was drunk and surly. I need to see that again. Character character character.

    Our fantasies are always about what we can't have or what we hope were true. What I haven;t been able to understand yet is the appeal of evil heroes such as vampire and werewolves as romantic figures. I'm still thinking about that one.


  5. Hi Lisabet!

    It's kind of strange all right. I do think Superman would have this problem though.

    This was the story I was writing at Starbucks in that photo here a few weeks ago.


  6. Hi Serafine!

    Haven't noticed you here before - thanks for coming by and reading my stuff!

    I had a lot of fun writing it. I still love those old comic hereoes.


  7. I especially liked your turn of phrase: Man of steel, woman of kleenex. You have a way with words, Garce. I love it.

    To me vampires represent the idea of laughing in the face of mortality. Of course if they can't have sex, ala Anne Rice's books, what's the point? I'm still young and mortal enough to think that life wouldn't be worth living for a long, boring eternity with no orgasms. But that's just me...

    As for shifters, there's the whole uber-strength thing which is very attractive to most females since we're taught from a young age that we are vulnerable and to always be aware of our surroundings. The idea that we could go anywhere without having to fear the nearest man who might be a rapist is so freeing, hence attractive, that I'd be willing to experience the pain of bones cracking and resettling themselves into a bestial form, just for that freedom.

    I hope this gives you some kind of explanation. You always make me think...I like that in a writer.


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