"I can be your hero, baby
I can kiss away the pain
I will stand by you forever
You can take my breath away" -Hero by Enrique Iglesias
I'm sitting there, at my desk. Typing furiously, as always. Recording Superman's escapades at 32nd and 8th. That's how I spend most of my time these days, writing about my own adventures. Now, the question is: Am I an egotist? I probably look like one. If only Lois knew...
Damn it, here she comes now. She is so beautiful. A seraphim. Her flowing dark hair, cut just perfectly, just the right way to frame her face. She has such full lips, the color of red wine, flushed like her cheeks. Her nose was dainty, slender, childlike. Her long, elegant neck, her gracefully curved body, currently covered with a rather flattering olive green, lady's style business suit. And white silk underwear, I'll bet money on it, just thin silk hiding those curves. Jesus, what I want to do to those curves... And her eyes! Her eyes are perhaps the best feature of all; they are gold and brown swirled together, warm and sweet and intelligent, a taste of the divine.
Jesus, I must sound like a loser, a fool, a celibate priest, talking about Lois like that. I can't help it, it's like she's an angel, a nymph, a goddess. Never have I seen a woman so fine! A goddess. I worship her, and she doesn't even know I'm alive. Not while I'm wearing tweed, glasses, and a pocket protector she doesn't. No, Clark Kent doesn't stand a chance.
I can't help but gulp as she walks over. She must be just walking by. No surprise there, the coffee machine is right behind my desk. Don't know why she drinks the shit. I mean, all my senses are keen, but even people with no tastebuds would know how horrible that stuff is.
No, she's not walking by. Definitely not walking by. She smiles at me. "Hey, Clark," she says with a smile, sits down on the edge of my desk, about the only bare surface there. "Hot story?"
"Nah," I mutter, "just the usual. Superman prevents robbery, same old same old." I shuffle the papers, do anything but look into her eyes.
She smiles softly, I can tell without looking up. I refuse to look up, refuse to see the dreamy look in her eyes at the mention of my alter ego's name. I can't bear it. If I dated Lois as Superman, she would be in danger. Ignoring the fact that the glasses wouldn't be enough to maintain the split identity any more. If I knew how she kissed, there'd be no stopping me... And she'd never date me, never date Clark Kent. It just was never going to happen.
"So, how long is it going to take you to write this one up?" She's grinning, a bit more wickedly than I usually see. Wonder what she's up to.
I shrug. "Maybe another fifteen minutes, not even." Something about her makes me look up, and I'm glad I can see her eyes. They're beautiful, more gold than brown. Like amber. Amber eyes are rare, but a few girls on Krypton had them, I remember. Amazing how stunning amber eyes are.
Coyly, she crosses her legs, swings one casually back and forth as she asks, "Well, what are you doing when you finish? It's almost time to pack up for the day."
Is she asking what I think she's asking? Could it be, is it possible, dare I hope? I manage to stutter, my voice hitching, "Lois, I..."
I never get to finish. I can't finish, can't force the words out of my throat. I just stare at her, brown eyes meeting nearly golden ones. Her eyes are shifting in the flourescent lights, the color of honey now. Warm honey, sliding down my throat and soothing me. There's almost a halo around her.
Lois just sighs, reaches out her hand, pats my shoulder. "Well, if you don't want to..." she says coolly, gets up and walks away.
I don't even have the strength to call her back. I try to open my mouth, to call her name, to ask her to join me for dinner, to scream, something, ANYTHING, but the words never come. All I can do is touch my shoulder, still tingly from her touch.
I look at the clock, just turned 5:01. I watch her walk away. Silk, I'd bet my soul on it, more if I was allowed to prove it. With a longing shudder at what could have been, I throw on my jacket again and punch out on the timeclock. It was going to be a long night, thinking about all the what if's, might have been's, and could be's.
I can kiss away the pain
I will stand by you forever
You can take my breath away" -Hero by Enrique Iglesias
I'm sitting there, at my desk. Typing furiously, as always. Recording Superman's escapades at 32nd and 8th. That's how I spend most of my time these days, writing about my own adventures. Now, the question is: Am I an egotist? I probably look like one. If only Lois knew...
Damn it, here she comes now. She is so beautiful. A seraphim. Her flowing dark hair, cut just perfectly, just the right way to frame her face. She has such full lips, the color of red wine, flushed like her cheeks. Her nose was dainty, slender, childlike. Her long, elegant neck, her gracefully curved body, currently covered with a rather flattering olive green, lady's style business suit. And white silk underwear, I'll bet money on it, just thin silk hiding those curves. Jesus, what I want to do to those curves... And her eyes! Her eyes are perhaps the best feature of all; they are gold and brown swirled together, warm and sweet and intelligent, a taste of the divine.
Jesus, I must sound like a loser, a fool, a celibate priest, talking about Lois like that. I can't help it, it's like she's an angel, a nymph, a goddess. Never have I seen a woman so fine! A goddess. I worship her, and she doesn't even know I'm alive. Not while I'm wearing tweed, glasses, and a pocket protector she doesn't. No, Clark Kent doesn't stand a chance.
I can't help but gulp as she walks over. She must be just walking by. No surprise there, the coffee machine is right behind my desk. Don't know why she drinks the shit. I mean, all my senses are keen, but even people with no tastebuds would know how horrible that stuff is.
No, she's not walking by. Definitely not walking by. She smiles at me. "Hey, Clark," she says with a smile, sits down on the edge of my desk, about the only bare surface there. "Hot story?"
"Nah," I mutter, "just the usual. Superman prevents robbery, same old same old." I shuffle the papers, do anything but look into her eyes.
She smiles softly, I can tell without looking up. I refuse to look up, refuse to see the dreamy look in her eyes at the mention of my alter ego's name. I can't bear it. If I dated Lois as Superman, she would be in danger. Ignoring the fact that the glasses wouldn't be enough to maintain the split identity any more. If I knew how she kissed, there'd be no stopping me... And she'd never date me, never date Clark Kent. It just was never going to happen.
"So, how long is it going to take you to write this one up?" She's grinning, a bit more wickedly than I usually see. Wonder what she's up to.
I shrug. "Maybe another fifteen minutes, not even." Something about her makes me look up, and I'm glad I can see her eyes. They're beautiful, more gold than brown. Like amber. Amber eyes are rare, but a few girls on Krypton had them, I remember. Amazing how stunning amber eyes are.
Coyly, she crosses her legs, swings one casually back and forth as she asks, "Well, what are you doing when you finish? It's almost time to pack up for the day."
Is she asking what I think she's asking? Could it be, is it possible, dare I hope? I manage to stutter, my voice hitching, "Lois, I..."
I never get to finish. I can't finish, can't force the words out of my throat. I just stare at her, brown eyes meeting nearly golden ones. Her eyes are shifting in the flourescent lights, the color of honey now. Warm honey, sliding down my throat and soothing me. There's almost a halo around her.
Lois just sighs, reaches out her hand, pats my shoulder. "Well, if you don't want to..." she says coolly, gets up and walks away.
I don't even have the strength to call her back. I try to open my mouth, to call her name, to ask her to join me for dinner, to scream, something, ANYTHING, but the words never come. All I can do is touch my shoulder, still tingly from her touch.
I look at the clock, just turned 5:01. I watch her walk away. Silk, I'd bet my soul on it, more if I was allowed to prove it. With a longing shudder at what could have been, I throw on my jacket again and punch out on the timeclock. It was going to be a long night, thinking about all the what if's, might have been's, and could be's.