1 comments/ 17342 views/ 2 favorites Antihero: Riding Dirty By: Samuelx Damn it, I just hate it when my folks come for a visit unannounced. I mean, seriously. Why do parents do stuff like that? I've never really been the social type. That's part of the reason why I left my native New York and moved all the way to Los Angeles for higher education purposes. It wasn't because of the scholarship money. More like the chance to travel and the call of adventure. Actually, I really wanted to get away from my family. I love them but they were suffocating me, folks. You've got unwittingly annoying relatives too so you probably know what I mean. My situation is a little bit unique, though. First things first, ladies and gentlemen. The name is Jeremy LaPerle. It's French for pearl, in case you don't know. My parents originally come from Haiti. Marc-Aurel LaPerle and his wife Martine Lemieux LaPerle moved to America in the early 1980s. In 1988 they had a son. He grew up to be the six-foot-two, 210-pound, coconut-brown stud with the neatly styled cornrows who's about to take you for a ride. I come from a weird family, let me the first to say it. Why? I'll get to that in a minute. There is more to the world than what you know, folks. The supernatural is real. Stuff most people think of as only myth is actually quite real. I've met vampires in my day. They're some of my parents best friends, actually. What were they like? Not what you expected, I take it. For starters, these vampires were lively and friendly folks of Caribbean origin. Not the pale and gloomy Transylvanians often seen in the movies. They looked like normal people. They had jobs and led mostly normal lives. Oh, and they can walk in sunlight. They only let humans believe that because they think you're shmucks. Wolf-men and wolf-women are real too. They look normal. They're not the hairy beasts folklore make them out to be. Some of them are actually student-athletes in the Ivy League. Zombies walk the earth as well. Far from the shambling, dull-minded monsters seen in TV shows and bad Science Fiction movies shown on Cable on Saturday nights, they're actually quite nice once you get to know them. Some of them anyway. If a person was a jerk or a bitch while alive, he or she will remain that way while undead. Even the supernatural world can't cure jerk-hood and bitchiness. How come my family knows all these strange creatures? Well, it's mainly because we're not exactly one hundred percent human. My father Marc-Aurel is the grandson of a fallen archangel named Luciel. These days, Luciel dwells in Hell where he was cast down for rebelling against the Kingdom of Heaven. From his grandsire my father inherited certain abilities. He's got the ability to control the spirits of the dead. He's a Necromancer. He can also move objects with his mind, a power called Telekinesis. My mother Martine is of supernatural stock too. She's a direct descendant of Fanm Dlo, or " the Water Woman", a legendary mermaid who had relations with a Haitian sailor who captured her near the coast of Cap-Haitien during World War II. Mermaids are not what you think, folks. The average mermaid is not something you care to encounter. Yes, they're beautiful female entities which are half human and half fish. They're also immortal. What most legends won't tell you is that mermaids hate humanity. They can shape-shift at will and make themselves look completely human, or transform themselves into sea monsters. They have a taste for human flesh. Especially the flesh of unwary men who fall for their charms. I am not making it up. From her inhuman grandmother, dear old mum inherited abilities which made her a virtual powerhouse. My mother can breathe underwater. She can also control all matter of marine animals. Sometimes, through sheer force of will, she can create marine storms. My twin sister Marguerite inherited my parents supernatural abilities. She can do everything my father can do, and she has my mother's powers as well. How to describe Marguerite? A six-foot-two, lean and athletic, coconut-brown young woman whose looks make models grit their teeth in jealousy and whose smile has stolen many a woman's husband and many a man's wife. Like me, she is bisexual. Like me, she is a magical being. Unlike me, she's a sociopath. No conscience whatsoever. She can do anything at all without feeling guilty. She once unleashed a storm which battered the state of New York for three days, causing billions of dollars worth of damage and costing twenty human lives. All because her then-girlfriend cheated on her with some guy from the football team. She killed them both by the way. She's a powerhouse and a real nutcase. I mean that in the nicest, most brotherly way. These days, she's on the run. I don't know where she is and neither do my folks. You see, there are rules in the supernatural world. It doesn't matter if you are a Pagan god or goddess, wolf-man, vampire, zombie, witch, warlock, demon, monster or spirit. You have to follow the rules. If you don't, you will pay. There are magically endowed Enforcers out there and they hunt those beings who break the rules. My sister has been tagged by them. They will hunt her for all eternity. My parents blame themselves for the nutcase's rampage. If you ask me, I think it's partly their fault. Marguerite is nuts and they've never disciplined her. If I showed up late after a date, or accidentally scratched dad's car, I never hear the end of it. Marguerite was never punished. That's why she grew up to be a spoiled brat who saw the world as her playground and people as her toys. I don't know where she is and I don't care. If I never see her again, it'll be too soon. Yeah, that's my family, folks. Anyhow, I came to Los Angeles to start a new life for myself. The Los Angeles Institute of Technology, also known as L.A. Tech was offering me a full student-athlete scholarship for varsity soccer. I've always loved the game of soccer. Most of the world does. It's only in America that soccer takes a backseat to less known sports like football, basketball and baseball. Folks, the first time I came to Los Angeles, I knew I had it made. The city was awesome. The chicks were so pretty. The guys weren't bad-looking either. Yeah, I'm a bisexual guy. Sue me! The place looked cool. The city was so...huge, and the weather was much better than New York, which was cold for half the year. I moved into the dorms at L. A. Tech. I didn't know too much about the school, other than the fact that they were a private institute full of science geeks with a lousy athletic program. I mean, tech means nerd, hello? I walked around the campus and was amazed at how high-tech everything seemed. Every student received a laptop computer as part of their academic package. It was a necessity these days. The school had thirty dorm buildings, most of whom were single-sex, fifteen academic buildings, and five all-night and all-day libraries. I don't go to the library too often except maybe to check out online porn but whatever. I noticed that there were quite a few black men and black women on campus, along with some Hispanics and lots of Asians. That's cool. I would hate to feel like I was the only minority guy. It's not a pleasant feeling. I used to go to Saint Martin Preparatory, a private, all-male Catholic school in New York and I was one of sixty eight black guys among the three-hundred-persons student body. I felt like an alien, folks. The rich white brats didn't like us, and never took pains to hide it. I was happy to be going at a more diverse school. Officially, the Los Angeles Institute of Technology had thirty three thousand students. Thirty eight percent of them were non-Caucasian. What pleased me even more is the fact that the school was fifty four percent male and forty six percent female. These days, male students are a minority on college and university campuses across North America. A school that has less female students than male ones is a refreshing change of pace these days. I went to check the athletic facilities. To my great surprise, they were off the hook. The football stadium could easily seat thirty thousand people. It was used by the school for football games along with soccer games, field hockey games and also lacrosse matches. The track and field course was vast, almost Olympic size. The aquatic facilities were truly gigantic. I hadn't seen a pool this size in ages, not even on ESPN during the Olympics. These people were filthy rich! I smiled to myself, knowing I had it made. The school boasted of a vast athletic department. Men's varsity sports teams compete in baseball, basketball, cross country, soccer, swimming, volleyball, water polo, fencing, rowing, sailing, wrestling, rifle, football, lacrosse, rugby, ice hockey, gymnastics, golf and tennis. Women's varsity sports compete in softball, basketball, rifle, cross country, soccer, swimming, water polo, rowing, sailing, wrestling, fencing, field hockey, ice hockey, squash, volleyball, gymnastics, golf and tennis. All the sports teams, known as the Blue Blades and Lady Blades, compete in the N.C. A. A. Division One. I was summoned to the first meeting of the men's varsity soccer team. To my great surprise, our coach was a woman. A tall, good-looking lady with light bronze skin, icy blue eyes and long, dark brown hair. Head Coach Eileen Stewart. She was a 1991 graduate of the Los Angeles Institute of Technology, with a degree in sports management. She also used to be the captain of the women's varsity soccer team, back in the day. I wasn't the only guy who was surprised by our dear coach. Still, after a few minutes, once we got introductions out of the way and began talking business, I could see that she knew her stuff. I looked at my teammates. Of the twenty seven young men on the varsity soccer team, more than half were either black or Hispanic. Soccer isn't very popular with white guys in America. Minority athletes tend to dominate in football, basketball and occasionally soccer. Which explains why L. A. Tech had an all-black football team, all-black men's and women's basketball teams and a mostly minority men's soccer team while most other sports, especially ice hockey, lacrosse, golf, wrestling, swimming, rugby, gymnastics and volleyball were dominated by Caucasian male and female students. I guess some things never change in collegiate America. We began practice. Coach Eileen Stewart watched us, whistle tied by a string around her neck. The assistant coach, a slim Asian guy named Lee took notes as he observed us. I didn't like the way he looked at some of my teammates. That guy was a fruit case for sure. Oh, I've been known to occasionally hook up with men, especially when my girlfriends refused to perform certain sex acts in bed or when they're out of town. However, I had standards. Assistant coach Lee was an ugly dude. And he had no ass. Head coach Eileen Stewart on the other hand had a nice, athletic figure and some big tits, not to mention an ass that looked both firm and plump. I could hit that all day, folks. I'd love to make that booty bounce. Word up. Speaking of booty, I got to get me some and soon. I was too busy with my classes and the upcoming soccer season to get me some play. My teammate Josh, a tall, skinny light-skinned guy from Cape Verde told me he'd hook me up. One night at a club, he introduced me to these really hot black girl named Geraldine Aristotle. Man, the first time I saw this chick, I did a double take. I had died and gone to heaven. Geraldine was around five feet ten inches tall, thick and busty, with a big booty too. What we call a brick house in the black community. She majored in nursing at L. A. Tech and played on the women's rugby team. How about that? I took her dancing that night, then brought her back to my dorm for some fun. Geraldine sat on my couch while I undressed before her. I stood completely naked, letting her bask in my glory. I knew I looked good. I work out a lot and I get checked out by chicks and guys all day long. In my hand I held my dick. Nine inches long. Thick. Uncut. My parents don't believe in genital mutilation of young men. Besides, we're not a mainstream religious bunch anyway. We're pagan. I looked Geraldine in the eye. I knew she liked what she saw. She grinned, then got up to show me some love. We kissed. I undressed her, and took a look at her body. I've always liked big beautiful women. Especially those who were between five-foot-ten and six-foot-four. A gal could weigh anything from one seventy to two fifty. If I like her, then I like her. I definitely liked what I saw when I looked at Geraldine. This jet-black honey was something else. I looked at her gigantic boobs and couldn't wait to squeeze them. Got milk? Just kidding! She turned around, and my eyes widened when I saw her booty. Hot damn! This girl had a big booty! I put my hands on it, and felt it up. Nice and firm. I like it. The booty was plump but firm, and also kind of wide. She had a couple of dimples on it, which I find charming. She turned around, and I began fondling her tits. Meanwhile, she stroked my cock with her neatly manicured hands. She was getting me even harder. I sat her on the couch and sucked on her left breast while my hands went for her crotch. Her pussy was hairy and wet. I like that combo. I slid first one finger inside her, then two. Hot damn, this chick was wet as a puddle. She must really want this. I fingered her hot snatch, loving the feel of it around my fingers. I kissed a path from her breasts to her belly, before taking a deep breath. Folks, I'm going muff diving. Wish me luck! I breathed in the scent of Geraldine. The gal smelled as good as she looked. Which is a plus. I've had some misadventures while going down on some women and a few men. Lots of them aren't too neat down there. I licked Geraldine's snatch, flicking my tongue over her clit. I love eating pussy. Geraldine grabbed the back of my head, urging me on as I pleasured her. I worked my magic, licking her button and tweaking around her snatch with my agile digits. She told me to stop fiddling around and stick it in. I looked up. Alright then. No need to tell me twice. I rubbed my dick against her pussy, and pushed it inside. Ready or not, I'm coming inside! Swiftly, I entered her. Geraldine's pussy was tight, and as hot as its owner. I put my hands on her hips and thrust deep into her. I was ready to give her all nine inches. Geraldine pinched my arms, telling me to tearing it up. I fucked her hard and fast, cause that's my style. Geraldine was going buck-wild, swearing up and down as I took her for a ride. We switched positions. I put her on all fours. I was ready to go back inside but she told me to wait. I was puzzled. Didn't she want to do this? Geraldine laughed, and showed me her specialty. Folks, if you haven't seen a big beautiful woman doing the booty clap, you haven't lived! I couldn't believe it. Geraldine had this much control over her own body? Wow! I pressed my dick against her pussy and began pumping it into her like my life depended on it. Geraldine's plump, sexy body shook under the force of my thrusts. Suddenly inspired, I grabbed hold of her long hair and yanked her head back while slamming my dick inside her. If she was surprised by my bold move, Geraldine didn't let on. She just told me to fuck her harder. And I did. Until we both came who knows how many times and lay exhausted on the floor, in a pool of our own juices. Man, that's what I call a great night. When I woke up the next morning, Geraldine was gone. Just like that. This chick fucked the hell out of me and then left the next day without so much a word. We need more women like that in this world! I smiled to myself, stretched then got into the shower. Life was good! After showering, I left the dorm and took the shuttle bus into the city. Los Angeles was my new home and I wanted to explore it. I only had fifty bucks in my pocket, so I had to get some cash quickly. Young men and women who play for Division one schools receive full athletic scholarships. However, N. C. A. A. rules prevent us from working. For whatever reason. That really sucks. However, since I had magic, I wasn't bound by the same rules mortals operated by. And surely enough. Opportunity was soon knocking at my door. Near campus was this community bank, frequented by urbanites and students alike. Normally it was a quiet place but not today. Thanks to two gentlemen and one lady wearing black jumpsuits and ski masks, the place was quite lively. I saw them coming out of the bank, brandishing automatic guns and carrying bags full of money. They got into a bright red Hummer, and sped away. I could hear police sirens in the distance. What a bunch of morons. Who in hell uses a Hummer as a getaway car? It's bulky, swallows gas like a black hole and doesn't get too far. I wasn't dealing with the brain trust of bank robbers. Which is why I decided to relieve them of their burdens. I took to the air, soaring into the heavens. Oh, no worries. Nobody can see me while I'm doing my thing. No human being anyway. Common animals, as well sentient non-humans can see me just fine. They can always see magic. While flying, I felt peaceful. From above, the city looked even more beautiful than before. And it was quite easy for me to follow the red Hummer as it sped down the road, and surprised motorists tried their best to get out of the way. Idiots! They might as well paint ' criminal' on themselves. I swept down, and punctured the car wheels with my fingers. The Hummer skidded across the road and finally slammed into a large truck. I heard the screeches of other cars as they tried to avoid a collision. They didn't. I watched as a ten-car pile-up took place before my very eyes. Humans were so stupid. Grinning, I landed right beside the now unmoving Hummer. I checked on the now passengers. They struggled to extricate themselves from the vehicle. Ski masks may shield their identities to the world, but they don't work on someone like me. I saw right through them. The two guys were young, athletic types. One was tall, Caucasian, with green eyes and blond hair. The other was stocky and Hispanic, with a shaved head. As for the getaway driver, he was a really tall and skinny Asian. The young woman who was with them was a tall, athletic blonde. All of them wore Nike shoes, trademark of student-athletes at wealthy Division One colleges and universities. The young Hispanic guy got out first, followed by the young woman. The Asian guy fumbled for the bags of cash. He couldn't find them. Why? Because I had them. There was a look of pure shock on the Asian guy's face. His acolytes looked at him angrily as he explained the situation to them. Their faces were filled with shock. After a couple of seconds, they decided the smart thing to do was to run away. And so they did. And not a moment too soon for squad cars came by. Ah, L. A. P. D. cops. The most hated policemen and policewomen on the planet. Responsible for the Rodney King beating as well as countless other abuses of power, especially against minority men. I smiled. The thieving quartet was doing its best to get away. I knew they wouldn't get far. For some reason, I felt sorry for them. See what abusive authority does to people? The N. C. A. A. and its rigid rules refuses to allow student-athletes to financially fend for themselves, and it's turned some of them into criminals. As for the L. A. P. D. I had no lost love for them. I grew up reading and watching about their nefarious exploits. Four squad cars converged on the scene. I calmly walked over to where they were, and actually stood face to face with a tall, red-haired policewoman who of course couldn't see me. Neither could her partner, a pudgy bald guy with the palest skin I'd seen in ages. Grinning, I did my thing. Lo and behold, squad car after squad car got its battery fried. Actually, I melted the batteries. Setting off small explosions which made the cops jump. I stood there, and took a look long at what I've done. Four squad cars neutralized. Five cops standing there, dumbfounded. Satisfied, I took off. Antihero: Riding Dirty When I came back to my dorm, I turned on the TV. Today's robbery was all over the local news. A good-looking black male reporter who covered the crime beat for the cable news show told the story. Two men and one woman stormed the local bank and made off with loads of cash, leaving one armed guard dead and six people critically injured. I was stunned. They had actually killed somebody? I felt anger welling up in my heart. I love to screw people over for kicks. Especially abusive authority figures like cops or politically correct college administrators. Beating them at their own game is more fun than playing video games. However, I don't kill people. The Enforcers of the world I lived in gave us super-powered beings a lot of leeway but they drew the line at killing. I would never cross that line intentionally. Killing isn't fun, it's messy and boring. The reporter continued with his spiel. The three thieves had gotten away in a stolen red Hummer, and in the process of getting away had ran straight into a Mack truck, causing a ten-car pile-up which left seventeen people injured. Luckily, no one died. They were still on the loose, having gotten away on foot. There was a manhunt underway to catch these killers. The TV showed footage of the three robbers inside the bank. They duct-taped a dozen people and forced them to lie on the bank floor, eyes closed and trembling with fear. I watched in amazement as one of the robbers coldly shot an old guard who had been making a beeline for the door. He was going for help, knowing he was outgunned and outnumbered. He wasn't shooting at them. They didn't have to kill him. They should have shot him in the foot. That would have taken him down. Instead they killed him in cold-blood. I noticed with a certain fascination that the shooter was the female robber. She had been the trigger-happy one. So much for the gentler sex. Gritting my teeth, I slammed my fist into the dorm's wall. It went right through. I forced myself to calm down. Luckily I lived alone. It wouldn't do for a roommate to see me displaying superhuman strength. The robbers casually shot a man who was no real threat to them. They used lethal force when it wasn't necessary. I was stunned. Don't get me wrong. I don't feel guilt. At least not the way you do. I like to do what I please, and I avoid hurting people unless absolutely necessary. With my powers, brutal or lethal force is never necessary. Especially when dealing with ordinary humans. I can fly at supersonic speed. I can't be hurt by mundane weapons. I am monstrously strong. And I can turn invisible at will. With such power, there is usually no one who can threaten me enough to merit killing. These four student-athletes originally had my sympathy. They gave the middle finger to the oppressive N. C. A. A. and robbed a bank before getting away from the dimwits of the L.A. P. D. I was ready to say kudos to them until they killed that guard, an old man whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I actually let his killer get away. The guard's name was Patrick O'Bannon, sixty years old. A retired Army veteran. Survived by his wife, two sons and six grandkids. I forced myself to look away from the heart-wrenching picture of the old man smiling at me from the TV. I instead looked inside the money bags. They were full of shiny green cash. I counted it. Five hundred and twenty six grand, plus one hundred and eighty four dollars. A man had been killed for this money. Was half a million dollars worth a man's life? I felt a stab of something in my chest. A phantom pain. Is this what humans call guilt? Being partly human, I suppose I wasn't totally immune to it. However, I pushed the brunt of it out of mind. I hadn't killed that old man. The tall blonde female student-athlete turned bank robber did. I was out for profit, not murder. It's not my M. O. I went on my computer, and accessed the bank's online personnel records. Patrick O'Bannon lived in a nice little house near East Los Angeles with Margaret, his wife of thirty years. I clicked off the site, and deleted my tracks. All of a sudden, I knew what to do with the money. Opening my window, I went for a flight. Soaring above the city, I was fascinated by the glittering lights. This is the right thing to do, I told myself. And so I did it. I knocked on the door of the O'Bannon household. It was a nice little duplex, painted white. A rugged young man came to answer the door. He was the spitting image of Patrick O'Bannon, only a few decades younger. I was looking at a sturdy, dark-haired young man in his early twenties. I dropped the money bag at his feet. Startled, he nevertheless picked it up. I heard him gasp. Smiling, I flew away. I knew what made him gawk and gasp. Inside the bag was one hundred and sixty thousand dollars. In hundred-dollar bills. Almost half the money his dear old man died for. I kept the rest to myself, of course. I went back to my place, feeling a bit better. What? You didn't really think I was going to give them the whole thing, did you? What do I look like, a charitable organization? I don't think so. I stole it fair and square, so that makes it mine! First things first, though. I had to get some sleep. Yes, I do sleep. Got a long day ahead of me. I've got three classes tomorrow. Intro to Business at ten. Modern Literature at twelve thirty. And Business Law at three. After that, I've got soccer practice from thirty-thirty to six o'clock. Coach Eileen Stewart is going to work us to death. We've got a big game next week against UCLA. Oh, and I've given myself a personal assignment. I'm going to catch the four robbers. And as for the bitch who shot the guard, I'm going to have a moment alone with her. Teach her the error of her ways. My way. How do I find them? I knew their faces, but in a city the size of Los Angeles, I had to do better than that. Suddenly, a bright idea spiked up from the bottom of my consciousness. I knew how to find them. I would check the sports pages of various Los Angeles-area colleges and universities. Sooner or later, I'd get lucky. I'd find these bastards and the psycho bitch who was their triggerman and when I'm done with them, they're gonna wish they'd gotten caught by the L. A. P. D.