The dream began, as it always did, inside the Fortress of Solitude. Clark’s
work desk was deeply embedded in the snow. Fierce artic winds scattered
papers and files, but Clark did not notice this, because he was hard at
work on an article. He shifted in his chair. He was wearing the big red
cape underneath his business suit, and it bunched up around his shoulders
and neck. It flowed out beneath his suit coat, and under his ass. Sitting
on the cape only pulled it tighter against his neck, strangling him. He
would pause only long enough to re-adjust but not solve the problem. He
only sat, wrote, and took shallow breaths.
Clark looked over what he wrote:
I must not think bad thoughts.
I must not think bad thoughts.
I must not think bad thoughts.
I must not think bad thoughts.
Nearby, Ma and Pa Kent, dressed in custodian’s jumpsuits, were picking up
the scattered papers and putting them in a big black garbage bag.
Jor-El, dressed like Perry White, strode to Clark’s desk and cleared his
throat.
“Kent! The Justice League is waiting on that new article! Get a move on!”
Clark took a deep breath.
“Sir, I can’t keep up this pace any longer. It’s killing me. I quit.”
Jor-El shoved the type writer off the desk and into the snow. He stared
Clark in the face.
“You can’t quit. You can only be fired.”
Clark awoke with a start. He sat up in bed, and it took him a full five
minutes to fully realize where he was, and what he had experienced was only
a dream.
Lois stirred beside him. He remained quiet, so as not to wake her. When he
was sure she was fast asleep, he got out of the bed and walked into the
living room. He stood, looking out the enormous bay windows onto the city
below. While most of the apartment lights were out, the city lights never
went out. Metropolis was eerily beautiful at night. Despite the tranquil
view, his heart thundered inside his chest.
It was the same dream again. He’d been having it off and on for three weeks
now. What did it mean? It’d had been a year since he revealed to Lois that
Clark Kent and Super Man were the same person, and it was obvious that the
two worlds he’d created for himself were not gelling well. If Clark had to
be honest with himself, they never really did.
Super Man, the American icon, was so pure, and so perfect. Clark, on the
other hand, had the base desires of a human man.
His Krypton education included everything except sex education. He had no
idea how the Kryptonians had reproduced. He’d imagined it was similar to
how humans made love, but knowing how advanced they were, it wouldn’t
surprise Clark if it’d had included crystals, chemicals, or some other damn
crazy thing. As a teenager, Martha had caught Clark masturbating to old
issue of Playboy, and made him pray the rosary with his pants around his
ankles. Considering both sets of parents dropped the ball, it was no wonder
that the man of tomorrow was completely screwed-up when it came to sex.
“Thank God for Lois.” He thought. “Without her, I’d be the world’s most
powerful virgin.”
He gazed through the wall, and watched her sleep. While his X-Ray vision
had made him a natural voyeur, it was his lack of knowledge and lack of
confidence that cemented the role.
She was beautiful, even in the throes of a deep sleep. She was dressed in a
silky, long white sleeping gown. She’d gone to the trouble of bathing and
perfuming her curvy little body for him earlier this evening. He continued
to watch. She had
Dark hair, a slender figure, and full pouty lips… Did she bear a
resemblance to the centerfold in the magazine? Miss November nineteen
seventy-five?
He smiled to himself. Perhaps she’d been his one and only love… even from
the beginning? Clark muffled a laugh. Such strange thoughts occurred to him
so late at night. He’d have to tell Lois in the morning, she’d surely have
a good laugh over this thought.
He heard sirens in the distance. He quickly dressed and flew out the
window. The rustling of curtains left in his wake awoke Lois.
She sat up in bed. She turned on the light on the nightstand and withdrew a
pack of Camel Wides from the drawer. She lit one, puffed tentatively, and
stared out the open window.
Clark was gone. There must have been some kind of emergency or other. She
often wondered how they worked as a couple. He was so selfless and she was
so… not.
She touched herself lightly through her gown. Tomorrow she’d make one of
his voyeuristic fantasies come true. She prided herself on making his
humble requests happen. She grinned and blew a thick stream of smoke
through her nostrils.
She watched the smoke drift up to the ceiling. Everything was set, except
for any kind of unseen X factor. She couldn’t control bank robbers
downtown, or volcanic eruptions on exotic islands. Surely, Super Man
deserved the occasional wicked indulgence. This world was crawling with
super creeps with every imaginable combination of super power. One of them
could handle Super Man’s share for an afternoon.
She freed her right breast. She dragged on her cigarette and played with
her nipple. The thought of tomorrow was turning her on big time.
She could only hope Clark would return before she smoked and masturbated
herself back to sleep. Sadly, he did not.
It was Monday at the Daily Planet, and a slow news day to boot.
Clark sat at his desk, pounding out a human interest story. He anxiously
kept an eye on the time. It was nearly 12:30. Nearly show time. He glanced
around, surprised that no one was milling around in his office.
He took a glance outside with his X-ray vision. Lois was standing out
front, smoking a cigarette. She smiled at him, for she knew he was
watching. She took a large drag, and pretended not to notice him.
He took a closer look. The smoke whirled around in her lungs, a miniature
tornado of cloudy smoke. It danced, ebbed and flowed before his very eyes.
It was an extension of her body, and Clark loved every inch of it, as much
as he loved every inch of Lois.
His show was interrupted by the appearance of reporter Cat Grant walking
down the street. Her black heels clicked rhythmically as she walked. He
smiled in spite of himself. He was so very aroused already, and nothing had
even happened yet.
Cat was a different kind of beautiful. She was slightly older than Lois,
but decidedly sexual – gaunt features and blonde hair with dark roots.
She’d survived bouts with alcoholism, and was stronger and more beautiful
as a result.
She was about to go inside the building, when Lois intercepted her at the
door.
“Hey, cat.”
“Hello, Lois.”
“Did you have a nice lunch?”
“It was a working lunch, actually. I had a long interview with a very
boring subject. I’ll be lucky to get two paragraphs out of that, let alone
two pages.”
“Sorry to hear that. Want a cigarette?” Lois grinned wickedly. Cat laughed.
“See. Now this is why I’ve been purposely avoiding you. You know I quit six
months ago.”
“That’s right. I’m here to test your willpower.” Cat stared at the
cigarette in Lois’ mouth.
“You also know I’ve relapsed several times.”
“Really? I did not know that.” Lois laughed maniacally. Cat drew closer.
Clark was beside himself. He weighed the risks of touching himself.
She walked even closer, but hesitated.
“I shouldn’t. It’s not even my brand.”
“Ick. Mores shouldn’t even be sold legally.” Cat laughed.
“C’mon. Be my smoking buddy. Everyone else around here is much too sensible
to start again.”
Lois withdrew another Camel. Cat reached forward and took it between her
fingers, and placed it between her lips. She leaned forward and Lois lit
Cat’s cigarette.
Cat tilted her head back, and inhaled deeply. She exhaled a cloud of dense
cigarette smoke. Lois’ drag looked tiny in comparison. She lit a fresh
cigarette, and the two women chatted idly and smoked.
Clark was beside himself. He didn’t really know where to look first. He
decided some nudity was in order. He glanced over to Cat’s breasts, and
took in her dainty C-cups. He fell in love with the little mole on the base
of her right breast. Lois was slightly bigger, but Cat was clean shaven
downstairs.
He went deeper. Cat was dragging on her cigarette so much harder than Lois
was; therefore the smoke was much denser inside of her. Lois smiled at him
without Cat noticing. She saw how much smoke Cat was taking inside of her
lungs, and dragged that much harder on her own cigarette.
There was dense smoke on the inside and outside of both of these alluring
women, and Clark had not been this excited in a long time.
Clark’s slacks tightened. He was barely aware of anything outside of his
field of vision, but not completely. He turned his head. Somewhere across
the City, an alarm sounded. A quick look revealed a routine bank robbery.
Clark gripped the arms of his chair tightly. He was so torn between desire
and duty that he didn’t know what to do. Eventually, he decided to ignore
the sirens, the alarm, and the hostages. Super Girl was in the vicinity. He
didn’t give it a second thought as Lois exhaled a large cloud of smoke. He
could barely contain himself. It took an eternity for her to come from the
front of the building, to his office. She seemed to take even longer to
lock the door, sink to her knees and give him the best blow job of his
life.
Later that night the dream began, as it always did, inside the Fortress of
Solitude. This time there was no desk. No typewriter. No paper. Clark stood
naked, ankle deep in the snow, but he did not feel cold. His father,
Jor-El, appeared before him, dressed in his Kryptonian finery.
“Kal-El, You have brought great shame upon your heritage.”
“I know father. I’ll never do it again.”
“You used your God-like powers to satisfy your sexual urges. You will be
punished.” Clark smirked.
“How? You’ve been dead for thirty-five years.” It was Jor-El’s turn to
smirk.
“My love for you is infinite. My patience, however, is not. At dawn
tomorrow, you will be stripped of your abilities. The Super Man identity
will be granted to another man.”
Clark got down on his knees.
“Father! I beseech you! Think of all that I have done for mankind! Think of
all that I have sacrificed!”
Jor-El paused.
“Your pleas fall on deaf ears, Ka-El!”
“You can keep all the powers… If my hard work has meant anything to
you… just leave me my x-ray vision!”
He was now begging. Clark awoke with his hands clasped together tightly.
His body was covered in a cold sweat. He decided to change clothes and have
a pre-dawn flight.
He put on the blue body suit, at normal speed. The cape was surprisingly
heavy. He opened the window and gazed out at the pre-dawn cityscape. He
couldn’t see the street down below with much clarity. He couldn’t hear the
sound of satellites in deep space. Jor-El had done it. His powers were
fading fast.
Clark contemplated jumping out that open window. Instead, he turned around
and cast his gaze on Lois. She lay sleeping in a black nightgown. He used
his sole remaining superpower, and watched her lungs expand and contract as
she slept. Clark touched himself while he watched. He matched his strokes
to her rhythmic breathing.
Her blackened lungs glistened in the early morning sunlight. He shut his
eyes briefly, and imagined the first instant those baby pink lungs were
touched with the light brown tobacco tar coating. It was enough to bring
him off. He gritted his teeth and permanently stained her beautiful black
silk sleeping gown.
Six months passed. Clark was spending an inordinate amount of time at a
downtown bar. He taken up drinking and given up leaping tall buildings in a
single bound. He hadn’t been the same since Lois had quit smoking, quit her
job, and dumped him – in that order, in that exact order.
True to his word, Jor-El had given the Super Man role to another man. This
imposter had the requisite jet black hair, straight white teeth, and
perfect annunciation and grammar. He seemed to fit the super hero role
nicely. The world scarcely noticed the difference between him and Clark.
Faux-Super Man was to marry Wonder Woman in a highly publicized wedding in
the spring.
Clark checked his watch. He was meeting some dizzy broad from the Planet’s
advertising department. She had no personality and worse yet, no curves. A
quick scan revealed perfectly healthy lungs – perfectly normal, average,
boring lungs.
Clark downed another beer and continued to wait for someone he didn’t care
to meet. He was in for a long night.