2 comments/ 93053 views/ 1 favorites I Am Superman Ch. 01 By: Joe Wordsworth It never happens how you think when you're an eighteen year-old virgin. You imagine the flowing drapes and the passionate romance--that sweet tension in the air that let's you know that everything is going to be purely miraculous. You imagine dancing in formalwear after the Senior Prom, you imagine things involving time, fluidity, and that unique kind of planned-spontaneity that never happens in real life. Somehow, though, its always the backseat of your Dad's car with a girl you never knew well enough, fumbling around like the first time you tried to type your name, with only fifteen minutes before you have to make it to curfew. This is a story about those fifteen minutes. I'd been dating Paula for a few weeks, nothing significant, though I confess I only dated her because of her looks... nothing about her personality appealed to me, certainly not the cutsie little girl stuff she obsessed about. Chatter, giggling, and shallow gossip was every conversation we ever had. No, I didn't date Paula for her social skills. She was a cheerleader, that was status enough for me, my senior year of high school. She was a cheerleader, and I was about the most average man alive--put that together and I could tolerate her purely annoying habits until graduation. As long as she was on my arm for all social events, I had it made (and no small level of access to the rest of the cheerleading squad, who started looking at me with a different pair of eyes once I was "good enough" to date one of their own). At 5'9", Paula was a short girl... I say short because I tower at about 6'6". Hardly the bruiser sort, I'm more the Clark Kent wishing he were Superman--timid, soft-spoken, and a bit clumsy. I suppose, in retrospect, she was tall for a girl, but how could I notice? It was her genetics which gave her the edge on everything else... red-head. Damn, but aren't red-heads always cute? Short red hair, wavvy and to her shoulders, a nice tan (which always blew my mind, as I didn't think red-heads could do that), and nothing short of 34B-23-36. Paula was a lithe figure with every package in the house hard-up to tickle under her skirt. Her most spectacular feature, of course, was her ass--despite all her shit, I could always look at the ass and keep it together. Once we started getting more serious, a hand cupping most of one of those gorgeous and athletically-firm fenders was all it took to remind me that I was in it for the image and could put up with her for another few months. So, we were screwing like jack-rabbits, right? Hardly. She was a "good girl". Man, I always hated that term. Like a girl cannot be good and have her cherry popped? Geez, the most I ever got out of her was a few drinks at a friend's birthday party and she let me grind myself to nigh-satisfaction on her ass while we danced like white-people who wished they knew how to do more than grind on each other. It was torture. I went home every afternoon my senior year and finished the job her assets had started. I sometimes wished I were more aggressive and could just "take her" in that way that every action hero in the world "takes" the reluctant damsel. But, I didn't know the first thing about sex. Scratch that, I knew a lot about sex... but the kind of sex that friends talk about in fourth-period using words and descriptions of body-parts that are only seen in magazines or an uncle's video collection. If I followed the word-on-the-street about scoring with Paula, I'd have to have a ten-inch dick (because every friend I've ever had in highschool says that's what they've got), a desk (because everyone bent someone over a desk), and a perfect slut of a girl (because what girl would ever let me bend her over a desk and proceed to tag her with my ten-inch dick within the first ten minutes of meeting me?). I had none of those things. Like I said, I was an average guy, but that's a relative term--"average". Seven and a bit--that's me. But consider how big a hot-dog is, put it up to a He-Man action figure. Big dick, right? Now put it up to your own crotch. Tiny dick. For a guy standing 6'6" and 231 lbs., its slightly less than impressive looking. Proportionally speaking, it'd be like looking down (for the average height) and seeing five-and-a-half inches of glory...! Not that it mattered, Paula wasn't ever interested in seeing it. Well, turns out she was, I just didn't really know it. Mr. Oblivious.... that's me. It was a Thursday. I remember that because cheerleader practice was always on Thursday and I spent that hour after school in the gym watching them practice in their sports bras and gym shorts, while excusing myself to the bathroom every ten or fifteen minutes. Well, on this particular day, I was getting really bored and decided to see what they talk about when I leave--Lord knows they had every reason in the world to figure out why I kept leaving. Its not rocket science, they knew they were all gorgeous, they knew I wasn't getting any, they knew that if they ran that one drill where they all spin around with their asses to the crowd, bend over, and pitch their pom-poms up under their legs, shoot back up, and then catch them with a twist at the hips and a wink to the crowd... well, you get the picture. They could "make" me have to "step out for a bit". So, I step out... no big deal, I could give a damn what fourteen cheerleaders think of my masturbation habits--so long as they didn't ban me from practice (which, that should have been my first guess). I curled around the gym and walked under the bleachers, hoping they were talking about me. While there, of course, I realized I could just whip it out then and there... two birds with one stone. Ok, yeah, I realize how dumb that is, in retrospect. Suspension? Yeah, if I'd gotten caught. I'd have died of embarrasment, first, though. So, the captain of the squad's name was Lisa. Now, Lisa was about 5'1" tops and built like an athlete. All serious, all authority, and with the exceptions of the dimples and pony-tail, she could pass for "mean". She was the one I could hear the easiest... "...I'd have fucked him by now.", she said. I couldn't believe it, Lisa would have fucked me! "I mean, seriously, he's so... Tom Cruise.", she sighed... wait. Tom Cruise? I'm nothing like Tom Cruise. He's... short. And with dark hair. I'm not... Paula's best friend, Rachel, answered back, her shrill Latino accent unmistakeable, "I dunno, we've only been going out for a week." Crap. Great. I leave and they talk about other men. I was starting to lose the erection I hoped to satisfy in lieu of thoughts about Tom Cruise and Rachel's greasy little boyfriend. Then... ...a tap. On the shoulder. A tap. As though someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door... I turned around and sure enough, there's my girlfriend looking at me like I'm some kind of lunatic--beating off to her friends with a limp dick under some bleachers. Oh, God, just kill me now... after I zip back up. I turned eight shades of red and started trying to cover for myself. "Um, yo, yeah... so, I..." was using the bathroom? No, then I'm disgusting. "I was... it was dark..." and I decided to smack the monkey while watching Lisa's ass from under the bleachers? No, then I'm a pervert. "...oh, jeez, Paula, I'm sorry. I just kinda want to go and... y'know... die or something.", I started walking off, feeling that nervous pride thing. You see, in retrospect, I should have just did what all those people in the movies and stories do. You know, what I mean: I spin around, boldy, to see her standing there in her cheerleader uniform. My cock swelling to massive proportions before her virgin innocence. "Down, bitch...", I say as she unsurely looks at my mast, pulsing and straining under painful veins... "Suck it..." She snakes down to her knees with expectant eyes and her hands slide around the base of the monster... etc., etc., etc. No, it doesn't work like that. Even with the cheerleader uniform, even with her quizzical look and cute face, Mr. Winky decided he was going away for the next six weeks until Spring came, like some frightened gopher. Wonderful. Could this get any worse? At this point, Paula cracked. At first, small little chokings... like she had something caught in her throat or as though she had to sneeze. Then? Then she started laughing. Boisterously, finger-pointedly, and doubled-overly laughing. Loudly. Someone shoot me now. I tucked my dick away, and figured I might as well just go home and comfort my mocked cock... we didn't need chicks anyway, did we? No, we've got the internet... see if we ever date HER ever again, little buddy. Away I walked, out from under the bleachers, and Paula followed behind me, ready to meet the squad—who was on their way to where we were, what with the insane laughter and all. Lisa was the first to see us, me walking away from a giggling Paula. Rachel was next, curiously peeking around the corner. Then the rest of them... all of them. Some of them holding back the giggles, as well—for whatever reasons, they've got. I... lost it. I lost it, I admit it. Clark Kent went bugnuts and I just started ranting. "Alright, fine.... Fine! You want to know what happened? I've been trying to worm my way with this..." I pointed to my crotch. "...into Paula's panties. I've been trying for weeks. Hell, I've been trying to get laid for years. What man, my age, hasn't? Its no crime. I'm not a bad guy. So, yeah, come to practice because I like looking at you all and yes, I jack off a few times a day to the idea. Sue me." They all stood their, shocked and apparently taken aback. Not wanting to give them time to be anything else (amused, offended, etc.), I continued. I also noticed that my adrenaline rush and being surrounded by hot women, and my growing lack of social concern about all of it... well, Mr Winky decided to cut his vacation short. "This..." I said while motioning back to Paula. "...is a prudish girl. A good girl, but an annoying and damn annoying girl. Is she hot? Yes. Why the hell do we think I'd date her? Personality? Please..." At this point, I turned a bit more to her. "Hon, I'm sorry. But we're just not compatible, I can't take this anymore. You're just... well, a real annoying bitch." She stopped laughing and I turned to the rest of them. "...and all of you, I don't know. Keep... " I started running out of steam... "...keep up the good work." Oh, how lame... it didn't matter though, I stormed out of the gym, my manhood bulging out my pants and my pride swelling nicely. I won. Even if I came in tomorrow morning and the school started making fun of me for being "The Jacker", I didn't care. I have had my revelation. Apathy, thy name be Clark. I Am Superman Ch. 02 The phone rang all night. ALL night. I knew it was Paula and the cheerleaders. I knew it. Or my friends, calling to ask me ridiculous questions and poke fun at me. Or the rest of the school, who probably would know all about it by Monday. I was going to be mortified. I'd have to transfer schools. I'd have to... well, maybe not. But that'd mean I'd have to kill a lot of people and while I'm not sure I couldn't do it, it would take a lot of time. So, I did what any self-respecting potentially slandered pervert would have done. I faked sick, skipped school Friday, and hoped and prayed it would all blow over by the next week. Things don't always go as planned, though. I'd have been content to have rode out the weekend on my own, worrying and trying to find a convenient way of getting drunk while not leaving the house (for fear of being seen). That was the plan. But, around eight o'clock in the evening on Friday, while stroking off to memories of sweet ass, in my room... there was a knock at the window. Now, anyone whose ever jacked it can tell you, there's something called the "Point of no return". This is the part of the process where it takes more work and discomfort to stop the coming climax than its worth--despite whoever could be interrupting. I had, by the knock, hit that point. So, I tried to open my eyes and take a peek at the window, figuring the blinds were closed so whoever it was could wait while I let Mr. Winky get it out of his system. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I saw the blue and white, the red hair... and as I turned and locked eyes with my prudish (and recently told-off) girlfriend on the other side of my window, I came hard. I shot one massive load of cum all over the floor and my pants. It would have been hot, had I not been just a bit more embarassed. Seeing as how this was the second time in as many days that Paula had interrupted me during my "Social Agenda", I started feeling less embarrassed and much more annoyed. I did what I thought was the best way of asserting my comfort and dominance over the situation. I stood up and out of my jeans (which were crumpled around my feet at the time), and walked over with a tired, but semi-hard cock dangling in front of me, to my window. Paula hadn't moved an inch since the wad-blowing and just stared at my cock and then up at me, back and forth, as I stood right in front of her... a pane of glass between us, on the second story of my house. Now, I make this known, because its necessary to the understanding of this story. I never loved Paula. I barely liked Paula. We were both eighteen and I had no plans on being with her "forever and ever". When she wasn't gossiping about some nonsense or giggling over some ridiculous joke, she was prim and proper and--despite being the tall and lithe and cute redhead that she was... well, she was a bit of a stuck-up bitch. But, standing there, with my dick still thick and firm in front of this gorgeous redhead sitting on the other side of a broad window at night, was one of the more erotic things I'd ever seen. Her cheerleading outfit was perfect, the sky blue with a broad white shoulder stripe--the mid-riff that just barely peeked tanned skin. It was perfection. And my dick started getting hard again. That's when Paula started laughing. Well, I say laughing, but what I mean to say is "giggling". She put her hand to her mouth and shook a little while smiling on the other side of the glass. She was giggling. I was a little embarassed. The whole fantasy of this beautiful girl and I sharing a sexual moment was cracking, making way for the reality of my girlfriend being a tease and a bitch and entirely not worth the hassle. I hate reality. Reality just makes you look at more porn. My face was probably turning all kinds of red, and my dick started shrinking. Poor guy. A workout and then right into the show, only to be heckled by redheads on the other side of windows. I'll make it up to you, pal. You and me. We'll go find a prostitute that doesn't know how to laugh--and, hey, its on me. So, my cock drooped and the most remarkable thing happened. Paula stopped giggling. She looked at my crotch like there was something serious she wanted to say, then looked at me--right in my eyes--and made the sexiest hand signal I'd ever seen in my life. She looked down at my cock, looked back up at me, and with a quizzical look on her face--with her cute brow scrunched up in confusion--she held her hand up like a fist and started making jacking motions. Not exaggeratedly, not at all, but very subtely. Like she was afraid of hurting the imaginary penis in her clenched hand. Now, there were two ways to take this. Either she wanted me to unclog her toilet, politely, or stroke my cock for her... show her what I was doing yesterday. Show her what I was doing tonite. Give her a show. As I didn't have a plunger handy, and I felt like--truly--I had nothing to lose, especially after yesterday afternoon, I put my hand around my dick and started pumping my fist around it. Squeezing. Letting it get hard, watching her every reaction while I did it. And boy, was she ever having them. I mean, for Pete's sake, she's on my ledge, where anyone paying close enough attention could see from the street. But, it was like the rest of the world wasn't even there. She watched me squeeze my prick and she started breathing heavier. She had that lightly panicked, lightly pained, and lightly aroused look on her pretty face that so many women have--but usually, they're about to cum when they look like that. Her hands were on the window sill, her eyes were on my cock. So, I did what you'd expect any guy to do... I put on the best show I could! Now, when a man jacks it, he's got a method. A rhythm. He's got a way of going about it that rarely changes, and works. Watching a man get off, for real, is pretty formulaic. And, in my opinion, not very interesting. Me? I go with the three-finger clench method and focus entirely on the end. It gets me where I've got to be. But tonite? Oh, ho! Tonite I was pulling out all the stops. She was aroused, hot, and maybe a bit confused on the other side of the glass. She didn't know what to think. She didn't know what to do. I bet she never thought she'd see the day where she'd be watching a guy (boyfriend or not) jacking his cock off while starting at her. For some women, this might seem offensive, for many--its empowering. She was rapt with attention, and so was I. Her breathing was labored and I was praying she'd start touching herself. Paula wasn't the biggest rack on the team, but she had firm and noticeable breasts that fit perfectly with her athletic form. They were always straining against her tops. Now, with her breathing getting heavier as she watched me fist my dick, it seemed like they would burst clean out of that cheerleading outfit. I snaked my left hand down, and started cupping and stroking my balls. Something that has no erotic element for me at all, but her reaction was through the roof. Her eyes got really wide and she almost lingered at her breasts when she put her hand to her neck to brush her red hair back. Once my cock was good and hard, gleaming from just cumming a moment ago, and painfully ready for some action, I started pumping it back and forth. Toward her, then away, then toward, then away. I could tell she was enjoying herself, every once in a while she'd shift her legs and her eyes would glaze over a bit--she was grinding herself. She was trying to cum. Hahaha. Oh... the tables have turned, you horrible teasing ho! I slowed down and took my hands off my dick. Her brow furrowed a bit as she looked at me. She had that "Why?" look on her beautiful face. I decided that if I was going to recover my manhood, and my pride, I was going to have to make myself the one in charge. It was risky. I didn't want her to be offended, and I didn't want her to go, but I decided it was the best idea I had... I motioned for her take her top off. Now, I'd never seen my girlfriend's breasts. I'd never even really seen her outside of her clothes. I was desperate. Horny. Angry. And desperate men have nothing to lose. Desperate men have no tomorrow... She looked at me, obviously not wanting to. Then she looked at my cock. Her hands went to her sides smoothly, and she slid her cheerleading top off, up and over her head. Seeing her, sitting there behind glass, on a ledge, in a skirt and nothing else, was almost enough for me to blow my load. Her breasts were perfect, encased in the most polite looking sports bra. They looked so much larger than I thought they would, just sitting there on her lithe form. Tanned, pert, and gorgeous. She smiled a bit, as she noticed my reaction--then motioned for me to continue. I grabbed my dick and started jacking off as hard and fast as I could. She got wild-eyed for a bit and her mouth dropped open. I was so close. Her nipples were hard, poking through the otherwise tautly pulled fabric and I could tell she was enjoying this. I nodded at her, through a clenched jaw, letting her know that I was about to cum. She moved to her knees, her little pleated skirt riding high on her thighs. She moved to the window and slid her hands down her body, down her skirt, to the hem. She lifted the bottom. Her panties were white, smooth, and feminine. They were, honestly, what one would expect a good girl to wear. I could make out the tuft of red hair under the fabric and the line of her hips. Most of all, though, was the wet spot over her pussy. Her way of telling me, that she was as horny as I was. She hesitated a bit, and looked at me... her brow furrowed again, in frustration, as she let me know she wasn't sure how or what to do. I motioned for her to just lightly rub herself over the fabric of her panties. Still a little nervous, she put a hand to her crotch and began rubbing herself, her mouth dropped open in passion and she put her right hand to the glass, catching herself as she fell forward a bit. I put my left hand to the glass over hers and started beating off like it was the last time I'd ever get to. Our eyes were locked. Her face screwed up in concentration, mine red... I started going a bit faster, stroking and squeezing and feeling the orgasm coming. I nodded to Paula, and through the glass she understood. She moved her hand quicker, her legs shaking a bit and her face clenched in pleasure. My girlfriend, in a skirt and sports bra, masturbating for me... that was it. I came. I shot torrent after torrent of cum all over the window, making an audible sound as it hit. She looked down and watched what she'd made happen. She watched me stroke off all over the window sill. And with her own hand vigorously rubbing her clit, she peeked at me once before her eyes closed, her brow relaxed, and her mouth dropped open. The first sound I'd heard, from my side of the glass, all night... was a faint "Ohh-hhhhh myy-y Goo-ddd". She then passed out, fell off her knees onto the ledge... rolled off... and toppled side-ways off the roof.. I had my own cock in my hand, just got through experiencing the most erotic thing in the whole world. And now I had to put on pants, run downstairs, avoid my parents, and hope my girflriend wasn't dead, after passing out from her first real orgasm and falling off of a second story roof after watching her pervert of a boyfriend jack off all over his bedroom window. This was NOT how I intended our sex life to start. I Am Superman Ch. 03 SSSSSSSSSMMMMACK!!!!! Her right hand whipped out like a coiled rattlesnake as she slapped the ever lovin' shit out of me. I felt the icey cold tingle of her fingers just an instant before my cheek started burning. "Clark!", she frowned. "Where...", more frowning. "...are...", yet more frowning. "...my...", she was starting to turn a little red. "...clothes?", oh, yeah, she's pissed. I sat there, face burning, trying to figure out how I was going to explain the sale of her panties to some freshman. I mean, it’s not a subject they teach you in Sex-Ed--how to explain selling your girlfriend's panties to her, after she regains consciousness. I suspected I was in some trouble. . . .. ... ..... My parents were half asleep in the living room, watching the Late Show with Letterman--a family tradition, really. I could come and go, mostly, as I pleased because I was a good son and never did anything wrong. But how I was going to drag my potentially deceased girlfriend out of the hedges, through the yard, and up to my room without them noticing was beyond me. I needed a plan. Moving a body? How do people move bodies, usually? I looked around as I made my way outside, trying to catch my own attention with anything that would prove useful. And there, behind the lawnmower, in the garage, perfectly on the way to the hedges under my second-story window, where Paula fell... ...construction bags. 30mm of heavy duty garbage carriers... seventy gallon capacity... perfect. I grabbed one on my way to the side of the house and saw her as I turned the corner. Even dirty, with a bit of a scraped knee, without a shirt, and tangled sideways and pivoted forty degrees to the aft hanging in a hedge... mmmm-mmm, my girlfriend was hot. I mean, don't get me wrong, she's a total bitch. But a hot bitch. Even I can't deny that. I looked at the situation with confusion and glee. Her ass was in the air, the skirt up over her moist panties, one leg sticking out of the side of the large bush and the other hanging down. Her arms were pointing up and down, and you couldn't see her head. She was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever seen. Now, if only the entire cheerleading team could be here for /this/. Mmm-hmm. My jacking off under the bleachers is nothing compared to the head cheerleader rubbing her clit for the first time on a second-story ledge and then cumming so hard she fell off into a bush and ended up looking like a really, really impressionistic sculpture. They'd forget all about my jacking off to them under the bleachers. The upper hand, and my pride, was returned! . . .. ... ..... I slung my girlfriend-in-a-sack over my shoulder and made for the front door... hoping my parents wouldn't think too hard about me taking the trash "in" instead of "out", tonight. I was grateful that Paula was unconscious, not dead, because I'm not sure if the picture I took would have been more wrong. In retrospect, it would have been wise to take a pulse before taking a Polaroid... but high school is one rough neighborhood, and I wasn't going to bog myself down with the details. Its war. And she was my Manhattan Project. I dumped her out on my floor and looked at her curled up like a sweet girl--anyone looking at her would think she was out playing with some kids or just got back from a rough outdoor practice and was sleeping innocently on the floor... poor thing. I knew better. She was the devil... sent from Hell to destroy me. Inside that lithe, tanned, athletic, hot body was the soul of pure prudish evil. The sort of evil that will rub her ass on your crotch at a school dance, but give no nooky. The kind of evil that gnaws at the hearts of men. I should put her back in the sack. But... you can't fight evil with evil... or, maybe you can, but you can't fight this kind of evil with its own kind of evil. That's just ensuring nobody gets laid, y'know? I had plans. I proved, tonight, that my girlfriend was curious about sex with me. I needed to push her a little further. I needed to unleash the good. Out with the evil, you horrible woman, and in with the good. I sat down, and found a magic marker on my desk, writing the word "Good" on my still semi-erect cock. I'd like to say I did it because it was a cool idea, but it was probably because it was late and I was tired and I was starting to let my imagination run my life. So, me and Goodcock picked up Paula, and took her to my bathroom. If I was going to have sex with her, tonight, I might as well get her cleaned up for it. Besides, I had no way of knowing how she'd react to waking up in my room, and wanted to give her as little ammunition as possible. Abducted? That was bad. Abducted and dirty? Knowing Paula, she'd have had me shot. Fast fact... did you know that cheerleading uniforms are easier to take off than most formalwear? It’s true. A zipper up top, a zipper on the skirt, a zipper on the sports bra... I mean, damn. How Cheerleaders aren't a metaphor for easy access is beyond me. I took off Paula's skirt just after the bathwater got warm enough. That wasn't so strange. I'd seen her in this skirt so many times, during games and pep rallies... and everyone had seen what was under it, as Paula was the most gymnastic one the team. I took her sneakers off, carefully, and her socks. I even massaged her feet a little, but if she was having any reaction to it, I couldn't tell. I began to get a bit worried... what if this was a coma? Or brain damage? Should I call a hospital? How would it look if they found her without her shirt (which I couldn't find)? All in all, brain damage would just have to be risked. I'm not letting my leverage get away that easily. Paula with brain damage was a small price to pay for NOT being considered a pervert by the whole school. ...teenage logic at its finest. So, there I was, holding my girlfriend in my arms, her gorgeous face resting on my shoulder. I took care unzipping her sports bra... this was going to be one of the moments I was waiting for. The first male to see Paula's tits. I could hear the chorus of teenage boys singing, in anticipation. Z-zzzzzzzzip. I took it off and pulled it over her head and was confronted with two perfect breasts... I moved my hand over them and they filled my palm. They were firm and tanned (so, she tanned... nude?), they were smooth and I had to fight the urge to start nuzzling and nibbling at them. I wanted to suck on her perfect nipples so badly, it took everything I had not to. I was not a molester. I was a pervert. There is, apparently, a difference. Her panties, however, were another story. Moist, white, cotton... they would have to come off, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to naked-ify my unconscious girlfriend just yet. I mean, Chrissake, tits are one thing... exposing her nether regions was just, I dunno, a little much. I thought over the whole thing for a few minutes. The pros, the cons. I wanted to make an intelligent decision on the matter. However, I found that instead of making intelligent decisions on the matter, I discovered that my hand had made it all the way back to my cock before I knew it. Reason just got ass-raped by instinct. This may be the only chance I'll ever have to see Paula naked. Might as well not let it go to waste. I have the rest of my life to regret this decision, but there's no telling how long she'll be out. I slid my thumbs to either side of her panties and began tugging them down. Inch by inch, tug by tug. I got them to her knees, trying not to look (savoring the moment, when I could gaze in full glory). I pulled them off of her and held them in my hand. They were still damp, and they smelled exactly how sweet pussy should. Time to take a look at my prize... KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! My heart froze. I couldn't breath. I darted out of my bathroom with my girlfriend's wet panties balled up in my fist and saw, on the other side of my cum-splattered window, Todd and Ted. A couple of freshmen who lived across the street. They were wiry, geeky little guys and they were sitting on my ledge looking at me, smiling. Ted had my girlfriend's cheerleading top on his head. Fuck. I strolled over and got close enough to ask them "What?" audibly. "Where is she, man?", Todd asked with a horny-as-fuck look on his face. "Who?" "Paula, man... where is she? We saw her fall off your roof, man. Fuck, she's hot.", said Ted. I had to give these guys credit for the effort, but their conversational skills were seriously lacking... I mean... wait... ...wait... ...hold on... "How did you know she was here?", I started getting angry. "Oh", said Todd, "We... um... promise you won't get mad?" "Promise", I lied. I was having visions of beating Todd in the face with my girlfriend-in-a-sack. "We sort of... were following her..." "Following her?" "Yeah... see, uh, we were going to ask her for... uh..." "Spit it out, Jesus... what are you talking about!?", I was really pissed now. "Ted and I came up with a few hundred bucks and some sophomore told us that she'd sell us her panties if we asked.", he turned bright red at this. Now, being a senior, I've heard this one before. Sounded like someone just wanted to make a fool out of these guys, and as much as I wanted to hurt them... I actually sympathized. I know how it feels for someone to toy with your sex drive. Hell, they were kids. "Alright... tell you what... here are her panties, now you all saw she was getting off while she fell, so these are fresh", I told them. "They don't get fresher than this. This is pure Paula perfume, here. Two hundred and fifty bucks and its all yours.", I dangled them on my side of the mirror and watched their faces light up. These are some sick kids. Now, I know what you're thinking. You sold your girlfriend's panties? You're thinking I'm sick. Well, I'm also smart. See, these guys are my alibi. I do them this favor and they'll do anything for me. Freshman are like that. They're my backdoor... if my parents come up here or Paula wakes up and freaks out or aliens abduct us all. Well, I have two guys who'll swear that /she/ was being the pervert by groping herself outside /my/ window. Leverage. Leverage is always important. They nodded quickly and pushed $250 under the crack I opened in the window. I slid the panties out. They scampered off, no doubt to take turns smelling them and working up the courage to tell the other one that they need some alone time with them. Ah, to be young again. I walked back into the bathroom and found Paula right where I left her. Somehow, in dealing with those guys for a few minutes, I was not as excited as I was... I was determined to just get her clean and put her to bed. No voyeurisms. Oh, how I hated my girlfriend. I picked her up, cradling her like gorgeous red-haired angel. Her pretty face sleeping gently, her arms folded in front of her and under her amazing breasts. She was an angel. An absolute angel. I walked over to the bathtub and carefully pitched her evil, evil, evil prudish ass into the luke warm water, making a giant splash, and proceeded to hose her down. I was going to get my fun out of this, if it was the last thing I did. . . .. ... ..... After drying her off, and tucking her into my bed, I started to feel closer to Paula. I had just (in my own way, sure) taken care of her, cleaned her and put her to bed. I felt noble, majestic. I felt like maybe I'd been too harsh on her. Maybe we really could get along and find... perhaps... love? SSSSSSSSSMMMMACK!!!!! Her right hand whipped out like a coiled rattlesnake as she slapped the ever lovin' shit out of me. I felt the icey cold tingle of her fingers just an instant before my cheek started burning. "Clark!", she frowned. "Where...", more frowning. "...are...", yet more frowning. "...my...", she was starting to turn a little red. "...clothes?", oh, yeah, she's pissed. I sat there, face burning, trying to figure out how I was going to explain the sale of her panties to some freshman. I mean, it’s not a subject they teach you in Sex-Ed--how to explain selling your girlfriend's panties to her, after she regains consciousness. I suspected I was in some trouble. God, I hate this bitch. But Goodcock likes her. Why can’t my life be more simple? I Am Superman Ch. 04 I ran over the details in my head, how I ended up here. It was, by far, the most compromising position I had been in since Sue Kennings played the "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" game in the fifth grade. While innocent and enjoyable, Sue failed to recognize the hazzards that can come from explaining to your older brothers that some boy at school showed you his "willie". It was, by far, the finest beating I ever took. I wouldn't even be thinking of Suzie, were it not for the similarities between then and now. Oh, there are differences, it's four cheerleaders and not four older brothers... but just like then, I'm hanging upside down naked from the waist... er... up, I guess. Oh, and I didn't have "Goodcock" in permanent marker written on my penis. That's a new one. I don't think I'll be able to explain that one away. They watched me in silence, surely contemplating their next move. Well, have at thee, bitches! You'll not get the best of me, today! I am beyond embarrassment at this point, and I can wait all night. Paula eyed me up and down, holding the cat-o-nine-tails lookin' thingy. I took my time running over the series of events that led up to this bizarre moment. . . .. ... ..... I remember Paula being mad. My girlfriend, the "love o' my life", the horrible she-bitch that considered it her goal in life to deprive me of the one thing two consenting adults should be engaging in as frequently as possible... simple gettin' freaky-freaky. Sex. She'd flipped out on me the night before, given that she had woken up naked after falling off of my roof--long story, no time to go over that now. After verbally abusing me, and an embarrassing moment when she'd tried to hit me with an alarm clock (which landed right where she'd intended, laying me out on the floor cold), I gather that she left and got her friends to come back at some point in the night to abscond with my unconscious body. One day, when retelling this story, I'll leave out the part about being knocked out by an alarm clock thrown by my girlfriend. I'll blame it on... oh, a biker or something. A big guy with tattoos named "Bubba" who thumped me with a baseball bat or something. When I came to, I was in a barn. At least, I think it's a barn. As there are bales of hay and a pitchfork and the place looks wooden. I could be in a garage for all I know. The lights from the ceiling make it hard to make out what I'm tied to, but I think the chain fastened around my legs and leading up through the lights is on a winch of some kind. Who knew cheerleaders could find a winch? My pants and underwear lay in a pile underneath me, I suspect one of the "softer-headed" ones thought they might break my fall nicely if I fell. I don't credit them with being the smartest kidnappers, just the foxiest. In another world, I would be at the center of a sexual revolution... they would suck and fuck me six ways till Sunday because I am a man with a cock and they are cheerleaders--and we're all of age and consenting. And they would do this and I would gain the sexual upper-hand and make my escape after shooting off the largest cumshot in the history of cumshots. But, had I even considered that to be a possible scenario, it ended abruptly when Paula came down on me hard with that leather thingy... ...on the cock an' balls. Have you ever been whipped on your "swimsuit area"? The sensation is somewhere between "sliding thirty feet down a greased razor blade" and "naked re-entry into the atmosphere". The whole world when red and then white as I heard her say something like. "Do it again!" The second smack almost made me lose my lunch (ladies, keep that in mind, it's a natural reaction). I then heard... "Clark? Clark, are you o.k.?" When the world came back into focus, there was Paula and the rest standing there looking concerned. "Shit, I didn't mean to... did that hurt?", she asked politely. "I thought... I thought this was what you wanted." Looking her right in the eye, I mustered the willpower of a god as I questioned her without losing my fucking mind. "What... makes you think... that THIS is anywhere NEAR what I want?" The other cheerleaders giggled to themselves. Paula took charge and hushed them up. Turning back to me, I could see she was all broken up about this. "Well, you... you like it, you know... kinda kinky." Bless her stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid heart. "I mean, I figured you didn't want 'normal' sex. You keep wanting to take things further and I've been too scared to try any of it.", she pleaded... almost crying. My heart just melted. "Oh, baby... no. No. I know I've been kinda strange lately, but I just want you. However you'll have me. I didn't mean for you to get all self-conscious about it. Look, I'm flattered that you'd try... this... whatever this is.", I told her, ignoring the stinging in my balls. Even Goodcock was sympathetic. "Clark, really? Do you really want me?", she brightened up and started beaming, oh, what a disarming smile on this girl. Her red hair and tanned skin, those pearly white teeth and adorable eyes. I'd have forgiven her the world. "Baby, of course I do.", this was the most tender moment we'd ever shared--despite my hanging off the ground, upside-down, with a mild concussion, and the worst ache in my groin I'd ever experienced, in front of half the cheerleading squad in a barn in God knows where... ...and then she stopped smiling. "Tough." She scowled for just a moment as I felt a needle poke me in the right butt-cheek and saw Lisa moved into my viewing angle holding a hypodermic. The world got hazy, and the last thing I remembered was Paula saying something like... "...hook him up to the machine." I told you she was a bitch.