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Subject: SG4: Frisking The Cat (CR: 10,10,10)
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These stories are very naughty, and since only adults should have
naughty thoughts, you shouldn't read them if you are under 18 years
old!

Supergirl & Catwoman are trademarks of DC Comics.

The entire Supergirl series and similar stories can be found on the
WWW site:

http://www.cris.com/~tooshoes/PenPartners.html
---------------------------------------------------

Frisking The Cat


Wearing a  red and blue costume, I could move mountains, and everyone
listened when I talked.  But wearing a brown wig and simple attire, it
seemed the only jobs available to me were as a secretary or a
waitress.  I was just one in a million college grads entering the job
market during a recession.

I finally landed a job several months after graduation in a marketing
research company, punching numbers and names into a database. The
night hours sucked, and the pay really wasn't enough to live on.
Unfortunately, being a superhero was voluntary work. Maybe I could use
it as a charitable deduction on April 15.

Now, at 1 am, I was a passenger on a subway train

from Downtown Station to South Metropolis.  I could fly home in under
a minute, but the train ride lasted almost a half an hour -- just one
more cost of having a secret identity and trying to live a normal
life. Yeah, right, as if commuting home at one in the morning was
normal!

Though I guess it wasn't unheard of, because I often shared the train
with a small number of fellow commuters, usually tired, sometimes
insane, and always looking as unhappy as I must have looked.

Tonight (this morning?) there were four of them sitting across from
me, three men and a woman, who were obviously together, but who didn't
speak a word for the first ten minutes of the ride. I crossed my legs
at the knees, because one of the men was looking at me.  There wasn't
much else for him to look at, I guess, but he was almost leering.
Maybe he was just admiring my legs, or maybe he caught a glimpse up my
miniskirt and happened to see my pussy in all it's glory. Maybe he saw
the blush on my face, because the thought of being "found out" always
turned me on, which, of course, is one reason why I never wore
panties. And that often led to an escalating cycle, as my excitement
made me wetter than any normal woman, so the juices dripped down my
thighs, making my chances of being found out all the greater.

But he didn't do anything or let on that he knew, and I was surprised
to feel sad. It made me long for my college days, when a glimpse of my
bare pussy would draw men in like bees to honey -- or at the very
least, draw a reaction.

Back at MU, people always looked for an invitation to meet someone
new, and I made new friends almost every day. I never ate alone, never
walked alone, and rarely slept alone.  Funny how I sometimes wished
for more privacy back then. At parties, men packed like wolves around
me, trying to get me drunk, not knowing that they didn't stand a
chance.  At getting me drunk, that is.

Now, I longed for the parties and the harassing.  Now, in "the real
world", almost everyone respected each other's privacy and minded
their own business and took no chances until they were in the safety
of their own homes.  What was wrong with society? What happens to
people when they leave the security of the campus?  And then it
occurred to me that whatever was wrong with society was wrong with me,
too. I haven't been with someone in months, and my best friend is my
cat Calvin.

I was afraid to approach people, the same as everyone else. I don't
know what I was afraid of, though. I didn't need to worry about
criminals or cops, like most other people did. Maybe I was just afraid
of offending someone, or doing something wrong. Maybe I needed the
support of my friends before I could reach out.

I know now how much I relied on friends to make my life happy. They
would push the boundaries, and I would follow behind them.  They would
knock on my door, and all I needed to do was invite them in. But I
never knocked on doors myself.

Almost unconsciously, I shifted my sitting position.  I crossed my
legs at my ankles, and my thighs were slightly apart. The young man
across from me had a straight line view to my pussy, now, but it was
just a fraction of an inch wide. I rested my hands on my lap, pushing
my skirt between my thighs, stealing away even the suspicion of
daylight.

It was amazing how just the slightest possible hint of an invitation
can catch a man's eye, because the young man was now sweating, and his
friends were taking notice now, too. Even the young woman raised an
eyebrow.

I felt a rush run through my body. *Careful, Linda, you are losing
control again*, a wise voice whispered. But I've had a hard time
listening to that voice lately. I swear that since I came to earth, my
sex drive has gone into overdrive. That yellow sun melted my will, and
the

loneliness of having no lover for several months fed my desire and
made me a little irrational at times.

I tried to fight it. I looked away from the curious eyes of the
strangers and read some of the advertisements posted on the train's
walls between the windows: There was a picture of a rather handsome
guy with an eye patch and a pistol, starring in a movie called: Escape
From Gotham City.  One poster was for Marlboro cigarettes, which had a
skull and crossbones spray-painted over it. A third poster was of a
very attractive woman, with the text: "I'm Horny, Call Me at (900)
481-3643". And the last poster from Nike was very simple; it
proclaimed in bright big red letters: Just Do It!

So much for distractions, I thought, as I shifted my legs, casually
rubbing my thighs together. When I realized how erotic that must have
seemed to the strangers, I opened my mouth in surprise.  Then I
thought how erotic opening my mouth might seem, so I covered it with
my hand and glanced at them. They stared back at me in surprise and
fascination, and I felt like cursing myself. I was so turned on now
that even when I was trying to act modest, it appeared like I was
flirting.

Hell, who was I kidding? I *was* flirting! I was pretty shy usually,
and I didn't have a bubbling personality, but how modest could I
really be? I liked wearing a skin-tight shirt that showed my nipples
whenever I was excited, which was often. I always wore a tiny

miniskirt, with no undies, and every couple of weeks, I shortened my
skirts even a tiny bit more. My pussy

underneath was completely bare (I burned the hair off with my heat
vision). Obviously, I wanted people to notice.

But denuding my pussy in that way irritated it a little, exciting it
even more than normal, and now, with everything else conspiring to
excite me, my pussy was soaking wet and flowing steadily. I couldn't
stand it. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the strangers as I
pressed my thighs together and gyrated my ass on the hard metal seat,
trying to satisfy my itch in a most ineffective way. My pussy was
aching for attention. I opened my eyes halfway and stared at my
captivated audience. I opened my mouth and licked my lips. I couldn't
hear that tiny wise voice anymore. Instead I glanced over at the
poster: *Just Do It!*

I closed my eyes, bit my lip, and raised my skirt. My pussy, slightly
pink from irritation, glistened in the bright overhead lights. I
soaked my fingers in the juices and spread the soothing moisture over
the irritated skin. I exhaled loudly, almost a gasp, almost a sigh of
relief, it felt so good!

Then, like background noise, I heard that tiny harassing voice
scolding me. It was accompanied by a symphony of other voices, that
altogether became white noise.  The only distinct voice that kept
ringing in my mind was: *Just Do It!*

I parted my pussy lips with my finger tips, showing my tenderest skin
to people I knew nothing about.  And from that most intimate place
flowed the message, *come to me.*

One of the men answered the call. He knelt between my legs for a
better view of the show. I opened my lips wider, giving him the best
view I could, while I massaged my clit with my other fingers. Droplets
gathered and ran down to my asshole, going to waste. *Oh, please,
don't just stand there!*

Another man sat down beside me, watching from a different angle. He
was watching my face, my other lips, as they also opened wide in
esctacy and longing.

Then, suddenly, a tongue reached deep into my pussy, sending a shock
wave through my body. I quickly withdrew my hands, moving them to my
neglected breasts, squeezing them through my blouse, while
surrendering my pussy to the man's will. He nibbled on my clit. I
gasped and cried out and wrapped my thighs around his head in reflex.
*Oh, a little faster! Oh, a little harder!*

The other two men took hold of my legs, holding them apart, while he
grabbed two handfuls of my ass, and pulled me to his ravenous mouth. I
buried my fingers in his hair, holding on as if to a support on an
amusement park ride. I could barely contain my enthusiasm. My ass was
suspended in mid air now, as he tore into my pussy, while the others
helped him out. And to think just a moment ago I was worried what they
would think of me!

The woman was meandering around the scene, watching the action,
amused.  She had a vaguely sly smile on her face. As my body tingled
and an ache consumed me, about to turn in an instant into the height
of pleasure, I wished for the woman to join in. I wanted for her to
kiss me hard, right now. I think she wanted to. She stepped closer.
But she didn't, and that disappointed me, even as my body and mind
were at a critical state, orgasm imminent.

The skyrockets exploded in my mind. My body quaked, my eyes teared,
and I was crying out uncontrollably, but my cries were overwhelmed by
the din of the train rushing through a tunnel.

And then everything seemed silent again.

As I came back down to Earth, I found myself looking into the eyes of
the man who sent me to heaven.  His rough features almost looked
beautiful. That's what a mind shattering orgasm will do to me. I
stroked his hair and whispered. "Hi. My name is Linda."

He smiled, but it was a slightly mischievous smile.  "Hi Linda with
the great tasting pussy."

I smiled back.

The train was slowing down and a voice came over the overhead speaker:
*Now stopping at Washington Crossing, take Red Line to Gotham. Next
stop: South Metropolis.*

The man wiped his chin on his sleeve and stood up.  "Our stop."

I felt a sudden sense of loss when he said that; I didn't want them to
go. I hurriedly collected myself. I straightened my skirt and made
sure my wig was on straight.  The four strangers gathered at the door
to the subway car, when it opened.

"Can I come with you?" I asked hopefully. After sharing myself with
them so intimately, they were very appealing to me. I wanted to be one
of them, whoever they were. I wanted to disappear into their lives.

He smiled. "You already have."

The woman laughed wickedly. "Thanks for the entertainment. We must do
it again some time."

I watched them leave. They never looked back at me.

I don't know how I felt. My emotions were overwhelming my thoughts --
sex always seemed to do that to me. What did that woman mean? Was she
being sarcastic? Was she insulting me? Or did she mean what she said,
but in a playful way?

The train pulled away. The strangers disappeared from view, leaving me
all alone, wondering what I had gained from my stunt.

Part of me was glowing inside, feeling a sense of

power and victory. Bending steel beams and doing acrobatics in the air
always came easily to me, but I never thought I could rise above my
inhibitions like that.

A part of me argued that I didn't rise at all, but fell as low as I
could fall. My inhibitions were my strength, and I had come away from
the experience with less than I had before.

Then, suddenly, I realized in horror, how true that was. My purse was
gone! In all the excitement, I never saw the strangers snatch my
purse. Inside I had some money and IDs, but far more importantly,
that's where I kept my Supergirl uniform!

If I hurried, I could break through the door and chase them down.

But I couldn't. I was paralyzed by embarrassment over the thought of
facing them. A few minutes ago, I was just an anonymous woman,
gambling with my reputation in front of a few strangers. Now
Supergirl's reputation was thrown in the pot, and the whole world
might see.

So I slumped back on my seat, sighing,  and I stared at the Nike
poster. God, I was so stupid sometimes! Why didn't I listen to that
wise little voice? I couldn't help but listen to her now, screaming
her I-told-you-so-s, reminding myself over and over again how stupid
and dirty I was.

* * *

I stepped off the train about five minutes later, and I felt a little
better, a little less worried. It even seemed a little funny, now.
What was that saying?  *Whatever will be, will be*. Let them say what
they will say, do what they will do. Let the naked truth come out, and
it will set me free! Free from shame, free from fear, free from
clothes, free from that silly looking costume!

I laughed out loud, and my laughter echoed off the houses nearby, and
it sounded so hollow that I shivered and realized how truly worried I
was. This was a disaster; there was no point in pretending it didn't
matter.

But what point was there in worrying, either? I guess the only thing I
could do now is wait -- and work on damage control.

Ok, think, Linda, what *can*  you do?  The costume is the key. When
they show it to the media, you are dead.

*If* they show it, I reminded myself.

Then I felt a burst of optimism: how could they be sure the costume in
my purse was real? Some companies sell imitation costumes as fetishes.

But fake costumes will burn in a fire, I reminded

myself. Fake costumes aren't bullet proof. They will test it, and they
will know.

And a fake costume was apparently what I would be

shopping for soon.

I laughed out loud again, as I walked around the corner. I don't know
if I was laughing or crying when I arrived home.

I was through the door and almost in the kitchen before I noticed that
the lights were on in my apartment. I jumped when I felt a hand on my
shoulder.

I spun around so fast that the man attached to that hand was thrown to
the floor.

I struggled to identify the intruder through the fog of my emotions,
until my memory came back to me, and I recognized his face.

No, I thought, shaking my head. He couldn't have possibly known, not
so soon. Hell it only happened about fifteen minutes ago! He couldn't
be *that* good.

* * *


"Andrew?"

"Geez, Linda," he replied while still lying flat on his back. "If I
had known you were so easy to sneak up on, I wouldn't have pretended
like we were the Impossible Mission Force the last time."

"The Last Time" was two years ago, when I was a junior at MU, and, as
Supergirl, I was was brushing people with political power the wrong
way. Andrew was an agent in an ultra-secret intelligence agency for
the government.  Apparently, despite all of Superman's and my good
deeds, the government considered us potentially greater threats to
national security than even the Soviet Union in it's prime.  Publicly,
we were treated like heroes, but behind the scenes, the government
tried their best to control us, how we acted, who we slept with, what
we said. So they created a secret branch under the NSA called the SSA
(Superhero Surveillance Agency).

Andrew had been the agent in charge of bringing me to "justice" for
various transgressions, and he proved he was up to the challenge. He
had actually had me at his mercy. He could have done with me whatever
he wished. But he let me go, breaking orders from above, and no doubt
taking a lot of flack in the process. As much as I hated what he had
done to me, I admired him for his courage to live by his conscience.

That was the only time we had met each other, but

Andrew did call me several times since. He'd ask me innocent
questions, like how was college going, did I have any new friends, did
I really like my hair that way. I didn't know what to make of it.
Maybe he was just trying to be my friend so he could be more
influential, but I believed that he liked me, regardless of what else
he was up to, and I found myself opening up to him.

Then he stopped calling, more than a year ago, and I had almost
forgotten about him. Until now.

"I hope you don't mind that I waited for you inside.  The door was
unlocked, so I took the liberty. Oh, and I fed your cat. It was the
only way to keep him off of me."

"Why are you here, Andrew?" I eyed him curiously.


"Why?" he said, as he stood and straightened his suit. "Because I
think I can help you."

"Oh?" I sat down on the sofa and motioned for Andrew to sit with me.
"What makes you think I need any help?"

"Because I've been watching you," he said simply, as he sat closer
than I had expected.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot you did that sort of thing, peeping
through my windows, listening in on my private conversations," I said
with a smile that contradicted my deeply sarcastic tone. I
accidentally touched his leg as I tried to adjust my skirt.

Andrew shifted in his seat, as he conjured up the

appropriate rationalization. "Common, Linda, the SSA only does that
when we have evidence of a legal infraction.  Besides, don't tell me
that you've never used those super- senses of yours to invade someone
else's privacy.  We are only trying to level the playing field a
little.  It doesn't bring me any pleasure to spy on you."

I knew that much was true. When he had captured me, I was totally
naked and at his mercy, yet he didn't take advantage of the situation
at all. He let me cover myself, and his dick was soft the whole time.
No sign of hardness even now, as we sat very close to each other. I
guess I just wasn't his type.

And that was probably how it should be, I thought, with nothing
between us. Getting involved with him would be a disaster. Besides, he
was always stabbing me with criticisms, like saying that I spy on
people. I replied, "Sometimes I see things that I probably shouldn't
see -- I can't help that. But I don't go out of my way to spy on
people's private lives like you do!"

Andrew held up his hand as if in defense. "OK, I'm sorry Linda, I
didn't come here to start an argument. I guess it's kind of hard to
avoid, considering the nature of my job, that we'd be on each other's
case, but really I came here hoping that we could cooperate, for a
change."

"Cooperate?" I asked, a little amused. "How could we cooperate on
anything? I mean, isn't that like asking a deer to cooperate with a
hunter?"

Andrew smiled and laughed, like he might do if he was arguing about
sports with his buddies.  He was acting very friendly, and I couldn't
tell if the emotion was genuine or if he was trying to sell himself to
me. I always had a tough time knowing that about him. He said, "Don't
you think that analogy is a little extreme? We have a lot of mutual
interests."

I smiled back at him, wondering what he was leading up to. "Such as?"

"Such as your well being. Your financial well being."

I stopped smiling and looked away. "I don't want to talk about that."

"You aren't doing very well. I know that you are two months behind on
paying the rent for this little house. You are three months behind on
your student loan payments, and you could go into default soon,"
Andrew pressed.

I shook my head, trying not to listen to him, but I couldn't help it.
Damn him! He always knew my weak spots, and he always pressed them
just right.  I had forgotten about that sly part of him.

He knew how  embarrassing it was to be the most powerful woman in the
world, yet to live on the edge of poverty just so I could have a
somewhat normal life.  Being Supergirl could be fun and exciting, but
most of the time I was happier when I wasn't in the spotlight, when
people didn't look at me like I was some kind of freak.

Besides, Superman and I had good reputations with the public in large
part because we didn't mix heroism with personal gain. We had to be
super-giving as well as super- human, or people would think of us as
greedy invaders rather than welcome visitors from Krypton. For all of
my powers, I couldn't force people to like me, so I always had to be
above reproach. I wish I didn't care so much about what people thought
of me, but I always did.

"I understand," Andrew said kindly, "that you want to have a private
life, and you want to protect your image.  Believe me, that's exactly
what I want, too. But you aren't serving yourself or your country well
right now.  The crime rate is skyrocketing at night, as criminals have
noticed the pattern -- you just aren't around once the sun goes down.
Fortunately for Metropolis, Superman has a steady presence.  Why?
Because Kent has the right kind of job for a superhero.  Reporting for
the Planet helps him learn about crimes in progress, and his heroics
pay him back by giving him a great story to write about. Your job, on
the other hand,

completely takes you out of action."

"It's the only job I could get," I objected.

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you decided on a
degree in Liberal Arts," Andrew patronized.  "But obviously you have
much more to offer the world than just your degree."

"Don't you think I know that?" I said impatiently, "But being a
superhero just doesn't pay well, anyway, except on those rare cases
where there is a reward. And then I look bad for accepting the
reward."

Andrew shook his head. "That's not quite what I had in mind. The
government and the police won't pay you to be a freelance hero -- too
many legal problems, for one thing.  But the SSA has different needs
and different legal requirements, and I have the authority to hire you
as an agent, complete with good pay and benefits, all of which will be
strictly confidential and hidden from the media."

"What?" I was stunned. "You want to hire me? I thought your agency
only spied on people like me -- why the hell should I trust you,
anyway."

Andrew took my attack personally, and I wished I hadn't been so harsh.
"I'm sorry Linda, that we always seem to be on opposite sides of the
fence. I know that sometimes the agency looks past your rights for the
sake of national security, and that really sucks, but that's why I
think this is such a good idea. If you are working for us, then we
will have enough knowledge of your activities without the need to spy,
since we will all share the same interests."

"You mean that I would be your hitman," I said skeptically, though I
was beginning to feel enthusiastic. I was also feeling a little warm
inside, because with Andrew sitting so close to me, the scent of his
cologne was very distracting to someone with super-senses.

Andrew shook his head, "No, no, each mission we'd

send you on would be a separate contract. You could refuse any of
them. And you could be a freelance hero in your spare time, saving
anyone your heart desires."

"So I'd be selling my super-body to you for a couple hours a night,
huh?" I teased, as I crossed my legs, brushing my shin against his
knee in the process.

"I guess you could look at it that way," Andrew said, suddenly feeling
a little awkward, suddenly feeling a little aroused, as anyone could
see. He moaned so softly that even I could barely hear it. But he
inched himself a few inches further away and put back on his business
face.  "So what do you say? Does it sound interesting?"

"Very interesting," I almost whispered, making him feel even more
uncomfortable. I should have been paying more attention to what he was
saying, but I was feeling very distracted. Knowing that I could affect
him, someone I thought was invulnerable to my sexuality, sent a thrill
through me that felt a little like passion, a little like revenge,
since Andrew had been pushing my emotional buttons ever since we had
met.

Now, he was in the hot seat. I could hear his mouth starting to water.
I could taste his fresh sweat in the air, mixing with the sharp smell
of his cologne.  I stroked his leg with my foot and looked into his
eyes, smiling, as if to say: *would you like to see my pussy?*

But he edged away from me in his seat and held up his hand. "Please
stop, Linda, you really shouldn't be doing this. You've really got to
control that sexual appetite of yours."

"What?" I said, stunned and embarrassed. How could he say that? He was
as turned on as I was.

"Please, let's just stick to business," he continued in a cold,
detached voice, as if the voice wasn't his. "We aren't animals who
have to fuck whenever they are in heat.  We can show a little
discipline. I don't know how people acted on Krypton, but on Earth, we
try to act with a little decency."

I just stared at Andrew, not knowing what to say.

Suddenly, I understood why someone as seemingly nice and gentle as
Andrew could be part of such an oppressive organization.  There was a
whole other side to him, a side I had never seen before. There was a
holier-than-thou side buried deep within him, a side that turned me
off completely.

Then his voice softened, and he was Andrew again.

"I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to be insulting.  Maybe we should just
forget about it and talk about your new job."

"Sure," I nodded, anxious to get past the awkward

moment. "Let's get down to business."


The dark side of Andrew didn't return for the rest of his visit, and
before too long, we were even teasing each other a little, but with
the clear understanding that nothing would happen.

But mostly we stuck to business, and we ironed out the details and
conditions of my new employment.

Simply put, Andrew was hiring me for two or three

missions per week on average. Andrew asked me to wear a beeper, so he
could contact me in an emergency, but I refused. I hate beepers.  I
told him if he really wanted to get my attention, wear that sexy
cologne he was wearing, and I'll drop everything and come for him. I
think I almost got to him with that.

But he got me better by waving a wad of $100 bills in front of my
face. He would pay me $2000 up front, in cash, for each mission. I'm
sure now as I think back I could have bargained with him for much
more, but I was so awed when he handed me the money that I stopped
thinking and started dreaming of everything I could do with it. All my
days of debt, coupon hunting, eating leftovers and riding the subway
were finally over, and I could barely even imagine asking for more.

And Andrew surprised me again by already having a

mission for me to start tomorrow night.

"The Catwoman has been burglarizing Gotham City for years now, but
we've never been able to catch her," Andrew said, as he handed me a
few pictures.

"Are these the best you have?" I asked, as I looked at each photo.
Catwoman was barely visible in any of them.  In three of the four she
was in the shadows, and in the last, the picture was so under exposed
that all I could see was her silhouette. "They don't even look like
the same woman."

"Really? How many women do you know that have that kind of body?"
Andrew said with barely hidden admiration.  "She looks a little
different because she wears several different costumes. We don't know
how many.  Sometimes she wears black leather, sometimes purple or grey
spandex or rubber.  Her real name is Selina Kyle, but we only have
this one picture of Selina when she was very young," Andrew said as he
handed me the last 3x5 Kodak print.

This was a very good picture, but she must have been only about 14,
and I didn't know how helpful it would be.  Still, I looked at it for
several minutes. There was something haunting and vaguely familiar
about it.  She was sitting on a park bench in a playful pose, a bit
too erotic for a girl that age, with her head slightly arched, her
long black hair falling away to unveil the full of her neck and
shoulders. She stared back at the camera with a hint of a smile and an
aura of confidence.

"We've been trying to get her for two years now, but she's been very
slippery. She has many friends, because she likes to spread some of
the bounty from her conquests around, giving some to the poor and to
charities, so she has a kind of Robin Hood reputation. Sometimes she
even helps bring other, more notorious criminals to justice, winning
her favor even among some cops, who confuse her activities with those
of the many vigilantes that protect Gotham City."

Andrew's voice seemed to be glowing as he talked of her. Perhaps even
he was confused about his feelings towards her, I thought,  when
suddenly his tenor changed.  "But really she is an sly opportunist.
She is an example of how criminals can take advantage of Gotham's
fascination and need for vigilantes. The city is overwrought with
crime.  Many citizens take the law into their own hands, because the
police can't handle the epidemics of gangs, guns and plunder.
Catwoman courts both sides, mixing good deeds with bad, so she tends
to slip through the cracks, and only the people she steals from
realize what she really is -- a criminal, pure and simple."

"How can I find her?" I asked, "or is that part of the job?"

Just then we were both startled by a ringing sound from within
Andrew's briefcase. "Just a second." Andrew answered his cellular
phone on the third ring, listened for a moment, his eyebrow raised,
then he hung up.

"Well, that was very interesting timing," Andrew said. "I was just
about to tell you that we were hoping to use your powers to find the
Catwoman, but I guess we won't need that. She just sent an unprotected
message over the internet; she forgot to encrypt it. Apparently she
plans to rob an art museum  tomorrow evening. We don't know which one,
but since there are only about five important museums in Gotham City,
you should have no trouble finding them."

"Wow!" I said in amazement. "Looks like my first day is gonna be a
piece of cake!"

Andrew frowned. "Don't even think that way. It's rare for the Catwoman
to slip up like this. She may even have noticed her mistake and
changed her plans. We've thought that we've had her a dozen times
before. Once we even had her cuffed and in the cruiser, and she
managed to escape and disappear down an empty street."

"She won't be able to escape from me," I said with a smile.

"That's what we're counting on."
* * *

Andrew stayed the rest of the night, sleeping in a spare bedroom, and
he left long before I awoke around noontime.

For the first time in months, I had a very pleasant sleep, and it was
all due to Andrew and the hopes he gave me for this new job.  He
fussed over me, making sure that  I wouldn't say no. He even told me
that he would take care of my former employer, so I didn't need to go
through the anxieties of quitting or giving my two week notice. He
made me feel very important.

I knew that I was making a compromise. I was giving up what I had once
thought that I really wanted -- living my life as a normal woman.
Lately, though, I had begun to think that normalcy was overrated.
Normal living has left me poor and lonely, especially since Carol left
several months ago.

Carol never said it, but I always knew she left because I wasn't as
exciting as I was once was, back in the days when I enjoyed being
Supergirl.  It turned her on to see me on TV all the time, rescuing
people, crushing criminals, and then having me come home to her every
night, surrendering myself to her.

Then came the confrontation with the police, the media attacks, and my
capture by the SSA.  I learned what came with being a hero. Being a
hero meant that I couldn't say what I believed, if it wasn't PC. I
couldn't even help people without worrying that someone would sue me,
for, say, breaking down an historic wall to prevent a murder.  And
then I made my biggest mistake by complaining about it, so the media
jumped on me, portrayed me as an ungrateful superbitch on a power
trip. That's when Supergirl all but disappeared from the scene, and I
became Linda Lee full time.

Now Andrew has brought back that old excitement again when he told me
that my country needed me. It was a message I was ready to hear. After
struggling as a college grad for so long, denying myself the pleasures
of my powers, I felt like a bird stuck in a cage. I was dying to get
out and fly.
* * *

But I couldn't be Supergirl without a costume.  Flying around in my
regular work clothes would seem wrong.  Inappropriate.

Unfortunately, I had very little time to solve this problem, since I
had to be Supergirl in just a few hours. I called all the costume
stores in Metropolis. Most had Superman and Wonder Woman costumes, but
they didn't carry Supergirl costumes even during Halloween. Finally, I
slammed down the phone in disgust.  I felt that unappreciated feeling
again, but really what did I expect, anyway, having virtually
disappeared from public view for so long.

Only three hours left. I had to think of something fast. Maybe if I
bought a Superman costume I could modify it.

Then I thought about the vast array of costumes that the Catwoman had,
and I smiled: Why not completely redesign my costume? After all, I had
always thought that cape and those long red boots looked more than a
little silly.
* * *

The Luther Lakeside Galleria was only a five minute ride on the
subway. It was a beautiful outdoor shopper's world, with a Japanese
Garden on one end, a stadium on the other, and hundreds of stores in
between. I felt excited being there with money in my pocket, for a
change.  I was drawn to the shop windows, and I kept thinking how

reasonable the prices seemed -- prices that would have seemed obscene
only yesterday. Thankfully, I didn't have much time on my hands, or I
might have lost control of myself. I kept reminding myself that I was
shopping for a new costume, nothing else.

I had a hundred ideas about what my new costume should look like. I
struggled to keep my imagination from getting too lavish or
impractical. I saw a stunning blue and red designer dress that would
be extremely awkward when I was flying, and a daring bathing suit that
would probably ruin my reputation again. I tried to keep myself
sensible.

The most important part of the costume was probably the shirt. People
should realize who I am as soon as they see me, and I thought I had
the perfect solution: There was a store in the mall that would print
any picture onto a T- shirt in under a half hour.  I felt conspicuous
as I handed my "S" symbol to the young man at the counter.  Maybe he
would recognize me or put two and two together.  While he was clearly
looking me over, his eyes didn't light up, and I don't think he made
the connection. Even if he did make the connection, it shouldn't
matter, as long as I didn't identify myself as Linda Lee.

"Small, Medium, Large, or X-Large," he asked.

That was a simple question I wasn't at all prepared for. I had a
chance to remake my image for the world,. My real costume had  always
been a little tight, and some people even claimed it was indecent
because my nipples would show through the fabric. There was one issue
of Metropolitan Weekly in which I swear they air-brushed my nipples
out. The rebel in me demanded the small T-shirt.

But another part of me wanted to do things right for a change. I
didn't want to offend people, least of all Andrew who was giving me
another chance. He wasn't sure about me. He had put his reputation on
the line to get me this job. He didn't say it, but I could see it in
his eyes.  The SSA wouldn't never have hired me if not at his urging,
and I owed it to him to be the model superheroine.


"Well?" The impatient young man asked.

"Medium," I finally replied. Then, after a long pause, "and a small
one, too."  That was just for me -- I wouldn't need to wear it in
public.

I was surprised how nice the red "S" looked on plain white. It was
simple and fresh and liberating. It felt like a discovery. Supergirl
was long past due for a makeover.

Still, I was a little afraid to experiment with my traditional
uniform. I spent about 30 minutes trying to find a simple red
miniskirt before I realized that miniskirts were  out of fashion. So
once again I was forced to be creative. Maybe a simple pair of blue
jeans  would be the right touch to go along with the T-shirt. It
sounded sensible, practical, decent. Millions of women wore long pants
every day.

But I couldn't convince myself to do it.  I hated the way loose
fitting jeans hid my legs. I was very proud of my legs. Tight pants
looked attractive, but they tore too easily. Finally I decided on a
pair of loose fitting sky- blue athletic shorts, which showed off my
legs almost up to my hip, yet were conservative where it counted most.

My biggest challenge was deciding on footwear. I wanted shiny, red
walking shoes,  but I couldn't find a single pair that would stay on
my feet while I was in flight. I was so frustrated that I even
considered being the first barefooted superhero. After all, I didn't
really need shoes, anyway. But even with my terrible sense of fashion,
I knew that would not be well received. So I finally settled on a pair
of red ankle-high boots, which wasn't too bad a compromise.

Now, the sun was almost down, and I didn't have much time left to
shop, so I hurriedly found a Filene's dressing booth. I was pretty
excited, now, and I almost forgot to check for hidden cameras.  Some
stores spied on these dressing booths, in their ongoing war against
shoplifters, but Filene's apparently had some respect for their

customers.

First, I donned the small t-shirt, which, as I had expected, hugged my
breasts so tightly that my nipples were clearly visible. A bra would
have solved that problem, of course, but I hated bras even more than
panties.  Underwear in general turned me off. It just wasn't sexy --
or maybe I was prejudiced, because underwear was foreign to Kryptonian
culture.

The medium sized t-shirt was much more modest, showing just enough of
my breasts to catch the attention of the young men I would save. I
wished that I could give them more to look at, and I felt a touch of
regret that my days of skirt-flirting were over.

Still, this new costume had a lot to offer. It showed off even more of
my legs than the miniskirt. The muted colors made my skin tones stand
out more. Maybe the simple design was even sexier than the garish
blues and reds. I looked more approachable, more human, more like the
girl- next-door, less like a comic book character.

I just looked at myself in the mirror for a few minutes, striking a
few poses, alternating between loving and hating the new look.

Then I packed up Linda Lee's wig and clothes into my shopping bags,
and I took a gulp. I was out of time now. The Catwoman would be making
her move soon. It was time for the new Supergirl to make her move,
too.

I stepped out of the booth. A dozen eyes gravitated towards me as I
left Filene's and entered the walkways of the outdoor mall. One young
man carrying a shiny new surf- board was walking past me, when he
stopped and stared.

"Woah, could this be the one and only Kara from Krypton?" he asked
excitedly.

I nodded and smiled. He looked familiar, but I couldn't place him.
"What do you think of my new look?" I asked, fishing for compliments.

He nodded and gestured widely. "Totally hot! You could surf with me
anytime!"

That was what I needed to hear. I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Thanks!" And then I waved goodbye, as I lifted off straight up into
the sky.
* * *

Gotham City was just a hop, skip and a jump away from Metropolis for
someone like me.  It was only about 150 miles away, and I could fly
there in under 30 minutes at a nice casual pace. I don't know why I
had never visited the dark city before. It was about time I did.

Gotham City was over-run by vigilantes and anarchists.  I had always
thought  Metropolis was so much more peaceful and civilized than
Gotham City because Metropolis had two superheroes paroling the skies
and maintaining order, while Gotham had none. All Gotham needed was a
hero it could count on.

Clark didn't agree with that theory. When I first

came to Earth, he warned me about going to Gotham.  He said it was
hard to be a hero in a place so confusing, where the the line between
good and evil was fuzzy at best.  Rich were pitted against the poor,
whites against blacks, gangs against gangs. Everyone felt like a
victim, and everyone wanted revenge. The social fabric was turned
inside out, and Clark believed that going in there to help people
would backfire. He compared Gotham City to a country in civil war: To
avoid getting caught in a quagmire, America should never send troops
into a civil war -- unless they have clear objectives.

And that's why I was going in. I had a clear objective: To capture the
Catwoman and bring her into justice. I knew that I couldn't save
Gotham City from the mess it was in, but at least I could do this one
small thing, remove this one cause of chaos, and help stem the tide of
crime.

Gotham wasn't as ugly as my expectations. In fact, it didn't look much
different from Metropolis at night. But when I looked more closely, I
could see the piles of litter along the streets and the graffiti on
the walls.  When I listened more closely, I could hear screams and
sirens running together into a steady wail. My first impulse was to
seek out those alarming sounds, offer my help, but I forced myself to
focus on the task at hand. I wanted to keep my objectives simple.

If Catwoman's message was to be believed, then she would be robbing
one of Gotham City's art museums tonight, and I had to keep my eyes on
all five of them. But first I had to find them. Andrew had marked
their locations on a map last night, but finding them in a big city at
night was a very different thing. I felt a little angry at myself. I
could have scoped out the area earlier in the afternoon, if I wasn't
having so much fun shopping for a costume at the mall. But scolding
myself now wouldn't help. At least I remembered to bring the map with
me, and I felt confident that I could find all five museums within
just a few minutes.

The first museum I found was The Wayne House Monument. Ah-ha! I
thought, as I saw stealth-like movement in the darkened building. But
when I looked a little closer, I was disappointed to find only bats
flying around in the caverns underneath. I glanced at the map and flew
on.

The second museum, The Art Expo, was still open to visitors, and it
would remain open until 9 pm.  That worried me a little. Maybe Selina
intended to commit her crime under the watchful eyes of the museum
security with some slight of hand. Maybe she had even bribed the
security to steal the art for her. I would have to pay very close
attention, but first I had to find the other three museums.

The Gotham Museum Of Fine Arts was on the other side of town, and
before I was even near the building, I could see the crime in
progress.  All of the rooms were dark, except one, where several
people wearing black were scurrying around, removing paintings from
the walls. They weren't even being careful, I thought. Anyone could
see the light from the main street outside the building.  Several
museum employees were watching on helplessly from another room as a
fortune in paint and canvas was being plundered.

I landed on top of the building and scanned the room, trying to locate
Selina, but I couldn't tell her apart from the other people.
Unfortunately, my x-ray vision can yield some pretty fuzzy images, and
all I could see was blobs that resembled people moving around inside.
But I could see that there was no Kryptonite awaiting me inside, and
there were no lead boxes hiding unseen surprises. So there was no
point in sneaking around.

With a crash, I pushed my way though a security door that led into the
room. The door was a little tougher than I had expected, so I had to
hit it twice before it fell away.  So much for the element of
surprise, I thought casually.

The criminals gained nothing from that extra second or two. They just
stood and stared at me as I paced to the middle of the room.

"Slumming today, Supergirl?" One of the men asked

with a wicked grin. He, like his companions, was dressed in black.

"Interesting clothes," commented another, as he walked up to me and
looked me over. "Let me guess.  Your regular threads are still in the
wash."

A third man, wearing a cat mask just like the Catwoman's, watched on
with a smile on his face and a hard- on in his pants.

I just stood there, surprised by their attitude.  Why did they seem so
cocky? I tried to see their faces through their masks, but I couldn't.
Obviously they treated their masks with lead or something similar. And
that meant that they were expecting me, or were at least prepared for
me. I felt a tingle in my back, as I came fully alert.  Could this be
a trap?

I looked around the room carefully.  Closed-circuit cameras were
recording the robbery from multiple angles. Six witnesses, all men
dressed up in identical security guard uniforms, were watching on from
the next room. I couldn't even see where the robbers were taking the
paintings. It almost seemed like they were taking the paintings off of
one wall and replacing them on another. What was going on here?

"Where is the Catwoman?" I demanded, barely hiding my confusion.

"Why, I was taking a catnap in the corner," came the reply, as Selina
stepped into the lit room, drawing all eyes to her. All I could do is
stand and stare as she sauntered gracefully towards me.

I knew that Selina had several Catwoman costumes, all of them daring,
and I had anticipated this moment, wondering what she would be wearing
tonight, whether spandex, leather, silk, or even black lace.  But she
took my breath away, dressed in transparent purple tights from her cat
mask down to her knee high black books.   Her nipples were hard and
prominent behind the sheer fabric. Her trimmed pussy was moist with
excitement, leaving a small dark purple spot between her legs.

I felt my pussy react sympathetically, as Selina walked right up to
me, looking me right in the eyes. "Can I interest you in a work of
art?" she purred.

I looked away, as I tried to regain my composure.  I swallowed and
said, "I'm here to take you in."

Selina smiled and posed, "Oh, by all means take me in! Do you like
what you see?"  Then she stepped even closer, so that we were nearly
touching.  "Or did you have more in mind? You came here to experience
something new.  That's what museums are for, aren't they?"

I felt myself sweating, and the scent of her perfume weakened my will.
I tried to meet her eyes, tried not to blink. "I'm taking you in for
stealing valuable art."

Selina stroked my shoulder carefully with her clawed black glove, and
I stepped back. "I didn't steal anything.  We were just rearranging
things a bit."

"Well ... I'm taking you in anyway," I said. "We have a long list of
crimes over the years."

"I'm sorry, but you aren't taking me anywhere," she whispered in my
ear. "Instead, I think I'll be taking you."

I felt my heart racing. "What do you mean? How will you stop me?"

Selina gestured towards the security guards in the other room, and
then rested her glove on my hip.  "You see, if you don't do exactly as
I say, my friends on the other end of these closed-circuit cameras
will blow these nice people to tiny bits."

It was a trap! "What do you want me to do?"

I gasped when Selina's glove stroked down my shirt and slipped into my
shorts. My knees gave, and I collapsed against her her larger body,
suddenly breathing heavily, suddenly staring deeply into her eyes.

"Why nothing at all, for the moment," she purred.  And then she kissed
me.

The power of her kiss sent shivers down my body, weakening me. What
kind of perfume was she wearing? It was making me dizzy, and my heart
was racing . . .

But I had to keep my wits about me. I couldn't let these feelings
overwhelm me. These were dangerous feelings that could sap my powers.
I should be trying to think of a way out.

I stepped away from the Catwoman and tried to collect myself. "I can't
do this," I said, scanning the rooms, looking for bombs, but I
couldn't see them. Maybe they were plastic explosives, because I would
have seen anything else right away. "There has to be something else
you want."

Selina touched my face with one claw, lightly scratching my skin.
"Maybe I'll think of something else later," she said, then she sniffed
at my neck and ear, purring. "But for now I have a craving for
super-flesh."

"I don't see any bombs," I said, stepping away again.

Selina glanced at me hard, looking slightly offended.  "Oh, would you
like me to set one off? It will only kill one or two people."

I shook my head quickly, and I let her touch me, "No, please, don't."

What else could I do?  I thought of the guards who were watching, the
people I was "saving," and I felt extremely embarrassed.  What was
Selina going to make me do?  I wouldn't let myself think of it.

Selina smiled. "So you'll be good?" She let one clawed finger travel
lazily down my chest, cutting through my T-shirt along the way,
exposing my cleavage, biting into my skin.

I nodded.

When her finger reached my shorts, my shirt hung loose like drapes.
She reached inside with both hands, followed the length of my side up
to my shoulders, exposing both of my breasts along the way. Then she
pushed my shirt back so that it hung loose behind me, trapping my arms
like cloth handcuffs behind my back.

"Say it," she demanded, and she leaned over and sucked on my right
nipple.

"I ...." I started, and then suddenly gasped when

Selina pinched my other nipple with her claws.  "I'll be good."

Now Selina was kneeling in front of me with her clawed hands digging
into my shorts. She licked her lips.  "Say it again, I didn't hear
you."

"I ..." I started again, when Selina viciously tore the shorts into
shreds. "I'll be good."

"Oh, I don't I believe you," Selina said, as she looked at my bare,
glistening pussy. My juices were running down my thigh. "Good girls
don't shave themselves down here.  Good girls never get this wet. I
think being good is the last thing on your mind."

I couldn't speak. I could barely even think.

I closed my eyes, realizing that everyone else's eyes were wide open,
staring at me, stroking my skin like ghostly fingers, filling me with
fear -- and excitement.  My excitement overflowed, running down my
thighs almost in a stream.

I could barely stand still as Selina licked my thighs clean.

"Mmm, you taste so good!" she purred, as my juices ran down her face.
"But you've barely quenched my thirst.  Open up a little."

She pushed my feet apart, sliding my shoes on the

floor, and I struggled to keep my balance. Then the Catwoman kneeled
between my legs and sniffed at my pussy.  My heart was beating out of
control, as I worried and anticipated what she would do next.  I
shuddered when she just barely touched my pussy lips with her tongue,
stroking from one end to the other, but she stopped too soon. Then she
held my pussy open wide with two clawed fingers, that felt like two
needles, and she puckered her lips and blew on my clit. I nearly fell
from the shock of the almost agonizing pleasure that shot through me.
My hips thrust and spasmed.  My pussy gushed like an orange being
squeezed.

Then Selina grabbed my ass and buried her claws in deep, as she dove
into my pussy like a carnivore, licking and sucking and even biting.

I couldn't keep my balance anymore, as wave after

wave of pleasure stung me, and I fell like a deer torn down by a lion.
But someone caught me before I could hit the ground. He held me up, as
the Catwoman kept on me, ravaging her helpless prey. All I could do
was moan "no" over and over.

I gazed through half open eyes at the guards in the next room -- the
innocents for whom I was offering up my body.  I couldn't tell what
they were thinking.  Why weren't they at least using this distraction
to escape?  Maybe I was crazy with passion, and maybe Selina's
wonderful tongue was confusing me, but that look in their eyes didn't
look like disgust or disappointment or even worry. They seemed to be
in wide eyed attention, and one man was even trying to sneak into the
room for a better look. I couldn't believe it. I was a featured
exhibit, like an x-rated Monet or Renior. I felt the last of my
resistance give. My body was limp. I was defeated.

"Mmmm, don't you pet a cat when she's affectionate?" Selina whispered,
reaching behind me to free my hands.

I closed my eyes and stroked the Catwoman's hair,

while I moaned softly, then louder. Finally I was crying out without
even thinking, again and again: "YES!" I buried my fingers in Selina's
locks when she dipped her tongue inside.  I twisted when she squeezed
her claws into my ass, leaving marks that would last several days, as
my powers melted away.  I yelled out when she nibbled on my clit. I
was oh so close!

But Selina pulled away just a moment too soon, leaving my body
shivering and aching and empty.  "Oh, no," I begged, totally
powerless, not even able to stand on my own, "Please don't stop yet!"

"Now let's not be greedy," Selina said, shaking her finger and licking
her lips. "Remember, you promised to be good. You've had your fun, and
now it's time to share."

I nodded and reached out to her. I didn't resist her orders anymore. I
only wanted to come now.

"Oh, no, not with me," she replied. "Maybe you could start with the
man who's holding you up. I think it's his turn. I think he earned it
last night."

What did she mean by that? I thought, but I forgot the question when
the hands that had been supporting me let go, and I fell to the floor
at his feet. When I looked up at him, he just grinned at me from
behind his black mask. The cat-man. And then the cat-man lowered his
pants, freeing the erection he had since I first saw him. His
excitement hadn't waned, and seeing his excitement started my mouth
watering.

"On your hands and knees," Selina said, reaching down to slap my ass.

I did as she told me without qualms. Her orders didn't seem like
orders anymore. It was like her will became my will. I kneeled with my
ass facing Selina and an audience behind her. I opened my knees
slightly, wanting them to see my pussy, wanting someone to use it, to
get me off, while I looked at the swollen dick being offered to me,
and I took it in my hand. He was so hot, he might have had a fever.

I glanced up at the cat-man, and his grin was gone.  His mouth was
open in expectation.

Back down at eye level, a tiny drop of pre-cum emerged from his dick.
I licked it off and circled the plump head with my tongue, but when I
did, another drop replaced it.  So I opened my mouth and took him in,
working him like a Lifesaver with my tongue. I don't know why, but I
really wanted to please him.

Someone was behind me now, touching my pussy, stroking me with his
finger. *Oh, please don't stop!* I arched my back, jutting my pussy up
even higher.  Now the finger found my clit and massaged it slowly. I
couldn't think about the dick in my mouth anymore. I was coming fast
again, and I needed to breath.

But the cat-man was coming fast, too, and when I was about to release
his dick, he suddenly grabbed my head and thrusted in deep. He would
have pushed right to the back of my throat, if my hand wasn't in the
way. He thrust again, and again.

And then I felt my ass being lifted into the air, as someone thrust in
from behind, pushing in his dick in so deep I could barely fit him. I
had to gasp and take a breath, when the dick in my mouth came crashing
in again.  And again. And again, in rhythm, the dicks filled my pussy,
filled my mouth, until I could barely tell them apart.  I couldn't
even move. My body was suspended in the air, my hair and my ass being
pulled in both directions, tossing me like a rag doll, -- except for
one hand that I had firmly planted on the ground.  A million
sensations overwhelmed me, but I focused on that hand, putting all of
my strength into it, thinking that it was my anchor, and if it went, I
would be lost.

Suddenly, the cat-man stopped thrusting and pulled my hair until it
hurt. I knew he was about to come, and I had a sudden impulse,
something I had always fantasized about. I wrapped my lips around his
dick tight, and I pressed hard against his dick with my tongue,
cutting off his semen flow.  I felt his dick shaking like a volcano
ready to erupt, but he couldn't. He moaned in frustration. He thrust
again, but only a drop escaped before I cut him off again.  He needed
to come so bad that he wouldn't let me stop him.  He grabbed my hand,
pulling it from his dick, and then he thrust until he hit the back of
my throat. I opened my mouth in reflex, just as he exploded. His hot,
salty essence escaped into my mouth, shocking me, riddling me with
confusion.

I didn't know what to think or how to feel. I didn't know whether he
tasted good or bad. I didn't know whether to feel violated, or to
accept his essence as a gift.  I only know that I didn't *want* to
feel violated.

And I liked the way he was stroking my hair, now,

making up for the pain he caused only a few moments ago. It was
enough. It let me savor his salty taste before

swallowing. It let me suck him until his plump red dick wouldn't give
anymore and I needed some air.

And now I could concentrate on the man behind me, who was fucking
faster, now. *Oh please don't come too fast, now! Finish me off!*  I
don't know know if I ever wanted anything more in my life.

I was almost hyperventilating, when two more hands grabbed my legs and
lifted my ass high into the air, and the fucking accelerated. Each
thrust gave me greater pleasure and increasing pain. My pussy was very
sore, now, that my lubrication was all used up, and my powers were all
but gone. I couldn't bear it, yet tears ran down my cheeks, and I
yelled out: "Oh, oh! Don't stop!"

He didn't stop, and now it was too late.  Like magic, the unbearable
aching and pain changed into a mind

shattering orgasm. My arms gave way beneath me, and my head fell to
the ground. The world was spinning, and I was screaming, as if in pain
or terror, but I felt nothing like that. I felt . . . full. I felt
relieved. I felt so fucking awesome that if it didn't stop soon, it
just might kill me.

I was barely conscious when I came again, or the third time. I only
remember feeling my body spasm and my arms going limp.

Before I knew it, it had stopped, and I was just lying there, naked on
the floor, sprawled out, at peace.  What had happened to me was like a
dream, but I felt the hard cold waxed floor against my chest. I felt a
cool breeze soothing my irritated pussy.

The cat-man kneeled beside me and stroked my hair. I looked up at him.
He had taken off his mask. I stared, thinking I should recognize him.
He said, "Hi Linda with the great tasting pussy."

Selina stood over me. Her tights were now soaking, and I felt
strangely sorry for her.  I was very confused, but I actually pitied
her, that she had to work so hard to conquer me, that she plotted this
rape fantasy so carefully, all for me and her friends, but not for
herself.

"Thanks for the entertainment," she said. "We must do it again some
time."

"You are going?" I asked, suddenly confused and disappointed. Then, as
an afterthought, "What about the security guards?"

"Didn't you guess?" she asked in amazement. "They

aren't security guards. There is no bomb. They are just friends who
wanted to be here. See?" she said with a smile as she grabbed a guard
and kissed him hard on the lips.

No, I had never guessed, and I felt a little angry and embarrassed at
being fooled so easily. I tried to get up, but I could barely even
manage sitting down.

Selina, sensing my anger, raised her hand. "Don't

bother trying to stop us. You won't get your powers back for at least
ten more minutes yet."

"Huh? How do you know that?" I asked. I didn't even know how long it
would take.

"My dear Supergirl," she smiled smugly, and she pushed me over with
her boot, just to show her confidence.  "Knowledge is everything. It's
the only thing that keeps a vigilante alive and free. Tell Andrew
that, like always, I was a step ahead of him."

"What?" I asked, understanding her only a tiny bit at a time. The web
I was caught in was much more intricate than I had imagined. "How do
you know about Andrew?"

"You mean he never told you? Really, you should know more about your
friends before you put your trust in them."

"We have to go now, before you get strong and angry and forget all the
nice things we did for you." She gestured to the cat-man, "We owe her
something to wear, after destroying her clothes."

He dropped a very familiar purse onto my lap. "I hope you don't mind
if I keep the cape," he said, grinning. "Just something to remember
you by."

And then they were gone, before I could rise to my feet. A few minutes
later, just like Selina said, my powers were returning, but by then
they were long gone, hiding among ten million faces in Gotham City.


I twisted and moaned, half asleep and half awake,

half remembering and half dreaming.

I saw myself lying naked on the floor. I was paralyzed from extreme
pain and pleasure.  Scratches ran down the length of my sides and my
legs. My nipples were sore from being sucked. My breasts were bruised
from so much squeezing. My pussy was bleeding, and Selina was standing
over me with my blood all over her face. She smiled at me.  My blood
dripped from her long fangs.

Andrew crawled beside her and licked the blood from her lips.  Then he
turned his attention to me, and bore into me with a terrible glare,
yelling something that didn't make sense. It sounded like . . .

. . . the doorbell. I sat up quickly and looked around. I was in my
bedroom, and the clock said 7 am.  Calvin was lying at the foot of my
bed, looking up at me.  I was naked under the sheets. I wasn't
bleeding or bruised, yet my heart was racing, and my pussy was wet
with

excitement, ready for fucking again. What was wrong with me?  Was I a
slave to my sexuality?

The doorbell buzzed again, this time longer and more insistently.

"Just a second," I yelled. I slipped into a bathrobe, carelessly
tossed on my wig, and floated downstairs. I paused at the bottom of
the stairs when, looking through the door, I saw who was on the other
side.

*Shit!* It was Andrew. I hesitated. Why was he here so early in the
morning? He knows I sleep in late.  He must have known about last
night. *Oh, Shit!*  What was I gonna say?

"Open the door, Linda," he said impatiently from the other side.

I unlatched the door and let him in.  He didn't look at me or say
hello. He walked right past me into the living room to a hard wooden
chair, sat down and told me to do likewise.

I sat in a wooden chair facing him. I crossed my legs and covered
myself as best I could with the bathrobe.

Andrew was very angry. He was so angry he wouldn't even look at me. He
just stared at the ceiling, collecting himself. For almost a minute,
he said nothing. The suspense was almost unbearable. Then he finally
said, "Guess what I found in my mailbox about an hour ago."

I shivered. "I don't know," I said, but I knew it

must have been bad.

"A video tape," he spitted out, and then he paused and let the words
sink in.

I covered my face with my hands and couldn't think of anything to say,
except, "Fuck!"

"Exactly," Andrew replied. "What the fuck happened?  What makes you
feel worse? That you let Selina get away, or that there were still a
few men that you didn't fuck last night?"

"Stop it!" I said, a little shocked, a little angry.  He didn't have
the right to talk to me that way. I didn't even think he was capable
of talking that way.  "It's not like I had a choice. She *made* me do
it!"

"That's not the way it looked on the tape," Andrew said. "You didn't
even try to stop them."

"I couldn't! She threatened to kill the security guards if I didn't do
what she wanted," I told him, but not convincingly. It was the truth,
but it felt like a lie. It was just a convenient excuse.

Even so, it surprised Andrew, and he lowered his tone. "What do you
mean?"

"Weren't you listening? That's what she said."

Andrew shook his head, "The tape didn't have sound, just visual. But
what security guards? There were no security guards. And there was no
bomb."

"I thought they were guards. They looked like guards.  I didn't know
they were just her friends. And I thought maybe the bomb was hidden,
maybe in lead." I said, clinging to my excuse, no matter how lame it
seemed, no matter how much I might have even enjoyed last night, it
wasn't something I chose to do.

Andrew shook his head.  "So you just let them all

fuck you. With all of your powers, you could have done *something!*"

"Like what?"

"I don't know! You might have tried to threaten her.  You might have
at least objected, instead of begging for more. You are going to make
me look really bad, when I have to show this tape to the agency. How
can I justify hiring you now? What do we do if she makes this tape
public?"

I shuddered at the thought. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to let you
down."

"And what was all this crap about the t-shirt and the shorts? How did
they get your costume?"

"They stole it from me a few days ago on the train. I didn't know who
they were then," I said, hoping he wouldn't press for details.

"They stole it from you?" Andrew was surprised and more than a little
confused.

I just nodded, expecting to be grilled. *Please don't push me*, I
wished. I knew if he pushed, I'd have to tell him the truth about that
train ride. I was a terrible liar.

"And when were you gonna share this information with me? I thought we
were on the same team."

"So did I," I replied, remembering Selina's last words before she
left. I was grateful to turn the blame back on him. "When were *you*
gonna tell *me* about your connection with Selina?"

"My connection . . .?" Andrew paused as if hit from out of nowhere. "I
didn't think that mattered. It was need- to-know information only."

"I think I needed to know. Last night . . . the museum . . . it was
all a trap. They knew I was coming. They knew you were sending me," I
said angrily, fighting my way out of the corner of blame. "She told me
to tell you that, like always, she was one step ahead of you."

Andrew looked shocked. He stood up and looked around the apartment. He
closed the blind to the window, then he examined the lamps and the
furniture, until he found a thin wire emerging from a hole in the rug
and disappearing into the sofa. He tore it loose with much more force
than was necessary. "That bitch!"

"So what is this all about?" I pushed, more curious than angry, now
that I was no longer in the hot seat.

Andrew shook his head and looked away. "I hired her to work for the
agency several months ago."

"You did what?  You hired a criminal? What for?"

"To help us get close to the major players in Gotham City. It made
sense at the time. She had contacts we could never have. I thought
she'd make a great double agent. We had a second agent watching her
from the other side, in case she decided to betray us." Andrew shook
his head, and either laughed or sighed. Despite his anger, he half
smiled in amazement. "We never expected that she'd betray both sides."

"What did she do?" I asked. "I mean, it must have

been something pretty awful."

Andrew glared at me and said, "I don't think you need to know any
more."

"Why? Was it something personal?" I asked, stepping closer.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter. Let's just say we

both have good reasons to get her now."

So it *was* personal! My mind fluttered with ideas of what it might
have been. Did she steal from him?  Were they lovers?

Andrew walked away from me, as if he was afraid I

might ask these questions. He walked straight for the door, and then
he half turned towards me, saying, "We can't let her get away with
this.  I'll contact you tonight."

"So you still want me to work with you?" I asked,

barely believing it.

He nodded. "Sure, and you can keep the video tape. I made copies
before I left."

I watched him leave, wondering and worrying what he meant by that.


I laid on the couch, trying to catch up on some of the sleep I had
lost that morning, but I was too anxious. I stared unseeing at the
television, instead, feeling confused and ashamed and afraid. And
then, as my mind awakened, I began to feel angry.

I guess I can be pretty dense sometimes. Anyone would have known what
he meant by that, except me. Maybe I knew what he meant all along, but
it took a while for me to believe the obvious.

I liked Andrew ever since I had met him, and I thought that he liked
me, too, even when he had trapped me, even when he spied on me. If I
like a man, I can look past ten flaws to the one wonderful thing about
him.  Andrew trapped me, but then he let me go. He would spy on me,
but then he'd apologize, saying sometimes he hated his job, but he had
to do it. He'd talk to me for days like he was my best friend. I
thought he had a weakness for me. I thought maybe part of him secretly
loved me.

Even if it were true, he still wanted to keep me on a leash. That
video tape was a leash, and he could use it to keep me in line. He saw
what happened when he let me loose, like at the museum. He was angry
at me, like a master would be angry at a pet for pooping on the floor.
He wouldn't let me loose again.

He was even angrier at the Catwoman. It wasn't just the anger he might
have towards just any criminal.  She was like a disobedient pet. She
was the pet that scratched up his prized possessions. She was the pet
that knocked the vase off of the mantel. She was the pet that ran
away.

And I was the pet that would pay the price. I hated being a part of
his control games.

As these thoughts of pets and cats haunted my mind, I thought about
Calvin, and how I hadn't seen him at all since Andrew left. Usually
when I'm lying on the couch, Calvin will leap up and cuddle with me,
purring and demanding attention, making me feel better, but when I
looked for him now, I saw him crouching in the corner.

"What's the matter, Calvin?" I asked. "Did that big, bad man scare
you?"

He just stared at me, as though I was the stranger, not Andrew.

I waited for a minute, just watching him, wondering what was wrong. He
didn't look hurt, yet he just eyed me suspiciously and kept his
distance. I forgot about Andrew and Selina and the anger I was
feeling, as I watched Calvin, His distrust made me feel lonely and
rejected. Sad to say, Calvin was my best friend, and he had always
loved me unconditionally. Until now, anyway.

Finally, Calvin stood up, stretched and said, "Meow".  He leaped onto
the couch. He rubbed his head against my belly. When I stroked his
neck and back, he arched into my hand and purred.

"That's a good boy!" I whispered, as I rubbed his

neck and back.  I sheltered him and consoled him like I wished someone
would do for me. I treated him like a pet should be treated. . .

Not that I wanted for Andrew to treat me like a pet.  I worked for
him, and I only wanted for him to treat me with the respect an
employer should have for his employees.  Employees should be
respected, and pets should be loved. No matter how he thought of me,
he wasn't treating me right. He was using me, and I didn't want to be
used anymore.

My eye twitched and I felt my whole body shiver, when I had a shameful
realization: I've let people use me for most of my life. Even worse, I
think I *wanted* people to use me, to take control of me. Carol loved
to play with my emotions, and I loved the games she played. My father
was very stern, and sometimes I think I earned his love by always
doing as I was told. I can barely even think about what I let happen
with Sam, and I virtually begged Selina to do whatever she wanted with
me.  No wonder people didn't respect me. I was pretty pathetic!

*I won't let anyone do that to me again!* My mind

screamed in anger and shame and disgust.  *Not Andrew, not anyone!*

Just then, Calvin clawed his way from my arms and

disappeared in the corner, again. He wouldn't even look out from
behind the chair. I hadn't seen him so scared since. .  . well, since
he was Sam's pet three years ago.

What happened? Maybe I let my anger get the best of me, and I squeezed
him a little too tight. Maybe I pet him too hard.

No, that wasn't it.  I was angry, and maybe I wasn't being
affectionate, but I was very gentle. I didn't even rub him the wrong
way. I kept my ugly emotions inside, showing him only kindness, so
unless he could read my mind . . .


. . .  read my mind! How could I have gone almost

four years on Earth without realizing it? I guess I would have
realized it earlier if I could read other people's (or cat's) minds.
Discovering my other powers was easy. I couldn't miss floating down a
flight of stairs, or crushing a telephone in my hand, or seeing
through the walls of my dorm room.  But how could I have guessed that
I was sending psychic signals out?

I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply, imagining that my body smelled
like catnip and it felt like a warm, soft spot in the sunlight.

A moment later, Calvin jumped back on the sofa and nuzzled against my
belly.

I smiled, now knowing that I was right. Calvin had read my mind.

I closed my eyes again and imagined a familiar field with bushes and
trees and small mice scurrying through the grass and darting into
holes in the ground.

Calvin looked quickly up at me, and then around the apartment. He
leaped from the sofa and onto the window sill.  He stared outside,
looking for mice to chase.

I closed my eyes again and thought of a giant Rottweiler, staring at
Calvin, foaming at the mouth, and barking like thunder.

Calvin spun around in panic, fell from the window

sill and disappeared under the sofa, as deeply hidden as he could get.

Why did I do that? I covered my face, laughing in

shame and amazement.

I looked under the sofa and saw Calvin staring suspiciously back at
me.  "I'm sorry Calvin. That was very mean of me."

I felt really guilty for scaring him like that, betraying his trust.
The funny thing was that I was still smiling, and not in a nice way. I
was so amazed by how quickly the predator had become the prey.


I hadn't walked the pathways of Metropolis University since I
graduated several months ago, but I thought there was no better place
to experiment with my newly discovered power. After all, everyone
played mind games there,  it seemed. When I was a student, I played
them, too.  I had been hungry for friends, until I learned that with a
little teasing in my short skirts and tight t-shirts, I would have as
many friends as I could handle.

Just rummaging through my old school clothes made me shiver in
excitement. I put on a one piece gold colored dress, with a matching
gold jacket and gold shoes.  Mary once told me that the gold
highlighted my long brown hair. She had much better fashion sense than
I did, so I believed her.

As provocative as my work wardrobe was, my school

clothes were twice that. The jacket completely covered my breasts,
encouraging curious eyes to either look in my eyes -- or travel south.
The dress ended in a microskirt that barely covered my ass and fell
less than an inch below my pussy. Unlike the red skirt of my Supergirl
costume, this skirt was form fitting, clinging to my ass.

Even so, I didn't call very much attention to myself, because roughly
half of the women on campus were dressed similarly. The rule among
college girls, it seemed, was to dress to the extreme while still
being legally decent.

Right now, brightly colored tights seemed to be in fashion. I walked
past one woman who was wearing purple from head to toe. She reminded
me very much of how Selina looked in the museum, except this college
girl's tights were not see through -- at least to ordinary eyes. She
pushed the limits by shaving her pussy and wearing nothing under her
tights, so the shape of her pussy lips were clearly visible, as if the
tights were a second skin. I admired that.

We were both pushing the limits, really, but she was getting more
looks than I was.  I could steal some of her attention by just
reaching down to pick up a pen -- I might even get the police's
attention. But without breaking the rules, I couldn't compete.

Miniskirts were falling out of fashion.  The skirt flirt has lost some
of it's mystery, because everyone knew that most women were completely
decent underneath.  Tights gave men more too look at, but left less
for their

imagination or anticipation, so I knew that some day soon, miniskirts
would come back.

Men just needed to start believing again. They were tired of watching
a closed cookie jar, just in case it might open. They were tired of
the promise of paradise, but no sign of it. They wanted a glimmer of
hope, like a mirage in the horizon, or a rumor of a sighting, just to
keep their faith alive.

And then I smiled as I realized I could give them

exactly what they wanted.

I paused for a moment at a crossroads, letting people pass around me,
and I concentrated on my appearance. I thought especially hard about
my miniskirt, imagining that it was two inches shorter. I imagined
that my pussy lips were barely visible to people walking by. They were
just a hint of pink below the gold hemline.

When I opened my eyes, half of the people within thirty yards were
staring at me. Maybe they were just staring at the weirdo who stopped
in the middle of traffic with her eyes closed, I thought, so I started
walking again, and sure enough, they were still looking, eyes slightly
down, following my ass.

This time, with my eyes opened, I concentrated on my leg, and I
imagined that a drop of pussy juice was rolling down my thigh,
glistening in the sunlight.

And wow! What a reaction! I felt everyone's eyes on me now, and a few
men were even following close behind.

Then, as I emerged from the shadow of a building, I walked into a cool
breeze that sent a chill over my body, between my legs, and over my
thighs. That's when I felt the moisture -- the tracks of two *real*
droplets that had settled behind my knee. I was having so much fun
imagining that I didn't know how real my fantasy was. My pussy was
overflowing.

*Oh, God!*  I thought, in shame, and I walked quickly now.
Embarrassment brought more excitement, and more evidence. At least I
was walking too fast now for people to see. I hurried into the
Mulligan Social Science Hall, and found a deserted corner, where I
paused to collect myself.

This is becoming a habit, I thought to myself as I wiped my legs
clean. I keep getting myself into these kinds of situations.   I want
to be a good girl. I want to be a bad girl.  I want to do the right
things -- but I want to break all the rules, and I don't want to be
caught. Or do I?  God, I'm messed up. I need to see a shrink.

Which, in a way, is why I was here.


"Linda!" Pamela shouted in surprise. She emerged from behind her desk
to greet me. She was wearing one of those fashionable skin tight
suits, and I felt a little more comfortable.  She wouldn't give me
those silly Freudian comments, like "penis envy" or like connecting my
desires to the death of my father. She was a good-bad girl herself.
Besides, she was into much more unorthodox theories.

"Hi Pam," I said, as I wrote my name down on the sign-in sheet. "Not
much of a crowd here."

She shook her head, and glanced away. "Nope, I think I started about
twenty years too late. It was a stupid idea for a thesis, really.
People just laugh when you say "ESP" today. The only people who come
in are religious freaks who think I'm some kind of witch, and students
who are desperate for extra credit. Why are *you* here?"

"Well, I'm not a religious freak, so I must be looking for extra
credit, and I thought it would be kewl to get it from an old friend."

Pam looked at me funny. "I thought you graduated."

I shook my head, "Almost. I had an incomplete on a psych course, and I
have to make it up."

Pam looked skeptical, but she wouldn't call me a liar. Why would I
lie, anyway? Just to see what I could get away with, of course.

"Oh," she said. "So . . . are those the only reasons?"

I shrugged. I think she probably asked everyone who walked through her
door about their motivations, but it had a special meaning for me.

A few years ago, when we were both undergrads, Pam had asked me maybe
ten times to do ESP experiments with her, and I always refused. People
talked about her behind her back, calling her a flake, and I didn't
want to be a part of that.

But more importantly, she had a reputation as a lesbian, and I was
strictly hetero back then. I didn't want to be a part of her lesbian
fantasies. I always suspected that the ESP experiments were just a
scheme to get me in bed.

But I underestimated Pam's devotion to ESP. She always hoped to do
real research on the topic, and finally she had the chance as a
graduate student.

"I thought you didn't believe in this stuff, Linda," Pam said, maybe
feeling used, because I would do this for extra credit, but not just
to be a good friend.

"I'm sorry, Pam. I guess I didn't have a very open mind back then. It
just seemed so ... crazy, but I'm thinking now: if people can fly or
turn invisible, anything is possible, right?"

"I never thought of it that way," Pam said, less angry. "But you may
have been right before. We've tested hundreds of people, and haven't
found a single hint of psychic ability in anyone. I don't know why I
even do it anymore, and I feel like I'm just going through the
motions, now."

"Well, let's go through the motions again," I said, with a smile. "You
never know when the right person will come along."


Pam introduced me to her creation:  a kind of isolation booth for two
people designed to keep out all noise and external stimuli,
fascillitating psychic

stimulation -- or so Pam says. To me it looked like one of those
confessionals that Catholics use. It even had the slide-away door
inside. If I could read Pam's mind, I'm sure I'd find out that she
bought it from an old church.

But I couldn't read her mind, as part one of her test bore out.

Pam read silently from a passage in a book, and asked me what she had
just read.

"Something about disciplining pets?" I asked.

"Huh? Uh, no. Just relax. Try to clear your mind," Pam said.

Next she stared at a series of photographs and asked me what she was
looking at.

"Two women torturing a man?" I asked.

"What?" Pam laughed. "No, it's just a picture of a chair. They are
very simple pictures, Linda. Just one object."

Then she told me that she was thinking of a part of her body -- that
this somehow tested emotional signals.

"Your nose?"

"No," Pam replied, barely hiding her frustration.  "I was thinking of
my belly button."

"Oh, I knew it was something with an opening."

"Common, Linda, I know it sounds silly, but please take this
seriously," she said as she turned off the light on her side of the
booth. A moment later, my side lit up.  "Your turn now. We are pretty
sure that you aren't a receiver, so lets see if you are a transmitter.
Remember, try to think only about the objects in your hand.  The
passage first . . ."

I licked my lips, as I picked up a sealed envelop and opened it. I
read silently:

"The long playing record has withstood many challenges throughout the
twentieth century, starting with wire recorders in the 1920's and then
more serious

challenges with magnetic tape technology, including reel-to- reel,
8-Track, and cassette tapes. Vinyl did not lose it's market until the
advent of digitized sound, starting in the 1980's."

"OK," I said, and then yawned. "What did I read?"


Pam paused, then asked: "Something boring?"

"Yeah . . .?" I said. "What else?"

"Something about car tires?"

Huh? Car tires?  "No, let me read it again," I said and tried to
concentrate very hard on what I was reading.  "OK, I'm done."

Pam paused, then finally guessed, almost desperately, "A chocolate
donut?"

"No," I said, feeling defeated. "The passage was about phonograph
records."

I was stunned. I had assumed she'd be able to read my mind -- I never
even considered the possibility of failure.  Had I just imagined
having the power? What about my experiments with Calvin? Maybe I could
only communicate with animals. What about the students on campus?
Maybe they were just responding to my clothes and my attitude and the
excitement running down my legs-- not to what I was thinking.

"Hey," Pam said, with a touch of enthusiasm, "that's really not so far
off. I mean, they are all round objects with holes. Try the pictures,
next."

I halfheartedly picked up the first photo.  It was a picture of a red
pickup truck, driving through a field.

"A car," Pam instantly said. "No, a truck. Red, and a lot of grass."

I gasped, suddenly awake again.

"Well?" Pam asked.

"You got it! Dead on!"

"No way!" she said, trying to contain her excitement.  Surely I must
have been joking with her ...

"Really, here, look," I said, holding the picture up to where she
could see.

Her eyes sparkled, but still she wouldn't let herself believe. "Try
the next picture."

Picture #2  was the Statue of Liberty, which immediately reminded me
of Carol.

"A dark haired woman," Pam said. "No, not a woman. A statue. The
Statue of Liberty?"

I showed her the picture, and she almost squealed in delight. "Oh,
finally! Finally, we have proof! A real transmitter! Try the next
picture."

I was very excited, too, but a warning bell went off in my head. What
did Pam mean by proof? Was she gonna hold me up as an example? Would
she tell everyone about me? If an enemy knew he could read my mind, my
power would become his power, and he could use it against me. I had to
kill the experiment right now.

I didn't look at the next picture. I closed my eyes and imagined a
candle stick.

"A candle?" Pam asked.

I shook my head and showed her a picture of a grandfather clock.

"Oh." Pam shrugged, but was still enthusiastic.  "Just a fluke. Try
the next one."

I closed my eyes and imagined myself giving Pam a

massage. I moved my hands under the towels, around her breasts. Then I
rolled her over and sucked on her nipples.

Pam paused, and when she spoke, she sounded embarrassed. "A, uh,
massage parlor?"

"What?" I asked, laughing and sounding as innocent as I could. I
showed her the picture of a personal computer.

"Damn," Pam said."The statue and the truck couldn't have just been a
coincidence. Try the body part test. Just try and relax and think only
about that one body part."

I closed my eyes and focused my thoughts on my pussy.  I touched
myself with a finger, parting the lips, starting the flow.

Pam didn't say anything.

I slowly massaged my clit, imaging that my finger was her finger. I
slipped another finger under the folds and pushed in deep. I hoped my
excitement didn't show in my face.

Pam still said nothing.

I looked through the wall between us, and saw that Pam was shifting in
her seat.  She was wet, too. I could smell her excitement.

"Well?" I asked. "What part of my body am I thinking of?"

Pam finally burst out, not wanting to say it, but she probably
couldn't think of any other body part at this point. "Your pus --, uh,
your genitals?"

"What?" I asked, trying to sound upset.

"Oh, I'm sorry Linda, I don't know why I thought of that."

"Really, Pam . . ."

"Try one more picture, please! I know we had some

kind of connection."

"OK," I closed my eyes and imagined that I was kneeling between Pam's
legs, sucking on her clit and squeezing her ass. She was twisting my
hair in her hands and screaming out Linda, Oh Linda...

"Linda ..."  Pam whispered. She was breathing heavily now, and her
face was almost red.

"Yes, Pam? What was the picture?"

"A woman licking..." Pam said, then took a breath, "I mean two women
having oral sex."

Denying my own needs, I rushed out of the confessional as if in rage.
Pam stumbled out behind me. I thought for a second that she might try
to kiss me -- she was so excited. I don't know what I would have done
if she had kissed me. But she collected herself and said, "I'm really
sorry Linda. I don't know why I said those things."

"Well, I do," I replied. "And I'm sorry, Pam, but I'm not looking for
a lover right now."

"Maybe you are right," Pam said, looking totally confused. "Maybe I
was just seeing what I wanted to see. But please keep me in mind ...
when you need a friend."

"OK," I said, thinking I might just take her up on that offer someday.
I turned towards the door.  "Bye, Pam."

"But Linda ... what about the extra credit?"

I smiled at her, which must have confused her even more, and said,
"That's OK. I've decided to go for the full course, instead.."


*Oh, that was so MEAN, Linda!* that voice called a conscience said.

I smiled. *Fuck that, it was fun! Stop second guessing yourself, girl.
The world is yours, if you want it.  It's a good day to be
Supergirl!.*

Why did I always feel that when I was having fun, I was losing
control?

I looked left and right as I left the Social Science building. A
thousand students were walking around, but no one seemed to be
watching me. They will be watching soon, I thought, as I removed my
wig and put it in my purse.

People lose control when they always do what society wants, when they
always do what someone else wants, when they never do what they want.

Pam should have done what she wanted.

I kicked off my shoes. One of them took off like a rocket and landed
on the roof of the cafeteria. A man walking nearby stopped dead in his
tracks, and stared at me in awe. I smiled, blushing, "Oops!"

I walked on the lawn along the sidewalk, feeling the grass between my
toes. I had never done that before, even though my feet had begged me
to for years. Why didn't I just do what I wanted? Who would it have
hurt?

Now many people were watching me. Was it really so strange to see
someone walking barefoot? Or maybe they were seeing into my mind,
anticipating.

I slipped out of my jacket and dropped it on the ground, and kept on
walking. *Litterbug*, complained my conscience. *Don't be silly --
it's gonna make a good souvenir for someone.*

My skin tingled from the cool air and the awareness that a thousand
eyes were watching me. A thousand imaginations were seeing my
thoughts.

So they weren't surprised when I lifted my shirt over my head. I
tossed it high in the air. No one saw it land.  They were watching my
breasts jiggling back into place, finally free of that tight shirt.
They were staring at my nipples, triggering that longing to suck, that
everyone is born with, and no one quite completely forgets. I was
sorry that I had only two nipples for this multitude.

My conscience screamed, but the voice just didn't

bother me, anymore. Why should I be modest when everyone can see what
I'm thinking, anyway? Wherever I go, they are sharing my fantasies,
and I never even knew it . .

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