TWIN DEMONS by Georgia Kennedy
Author's Notes
Real Love, © 1995-1996, Apple Corps Ltd./EMI Capitol Records
"L'amo cosí," means, "I love you so," in Italian.
Disclaimer
This is a derivative work of fiction featuring characters copyrighted and trademarked by Marvel Characters, Inc. It is based upon: Spider-Man, copyright 2002 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Spider-Man 2, copyright 2004 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Daredevil - Director's Cut, copyright 2004 by Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, Inc., all rights reserved; and Hulk, copyright 2003 by Universal Studios, all rights reserved. The author is not connected with nor is this work authorized by Marvel Characters, Inc., or any of the aforementioned motion picture studios. This work is intended solely for posting on Fanfiction, for the benefit and enjoyment of its intended audience. No commercial or financial benefit accrues or is intended to accrue to the author as a result of said posting. Any unauthorized copying or redistribution of this work might subject the party responsible for such unauthorized copying or redistribution to legal action by the owners of the aforementioned copyrights and trademarks.
VII
L'AMO, MARIA GIOVANNA
Peter never even heard Mary Jane's shout or the applause that followed it. His mind was totally focused on the next task at hand.
Or more precisely, the task after the next task at hand. He returned to his apartment, slipping through his open window in order to avoid Ditkovitch's incessant shouts of "Rent!" During his flight, he lifted his mask above his nose and mouth so that he could breathe in fresh air. He had to be more careful around these fires, he cautioned himself. His lungs had nearly collapsed from all that smoke that he'd swallowed.
Peter slipped out of his uniform, showered, and got dressed in his ragged sweats. Then he hurried down to the laundromat to wash his costume. It turned out that there was no need to rush, since Ditkovitch and his family were out for the day.
He had to put the costume through the washer twice to get out the stains from the smoke and soot. He hunched over the machine to prevent the other people from seeing what it was that he was washing. When the cycle was over, he threw the costume into the dryer, not caring if it shrunk or not. He was in a hurry. After fifteen minutes, he stopped the cycle, yanked the still-damp costume from the dryer, tucked it under his arm, and hurried back upstairs. Then he put it back on, hating the feel of the moist spandex against his skin. He put his "civvies" on over his uniform: a white turtle-necked shirt, blue slacks and the new black leather jacket. Then he picked up his phone, but suddenly remembered that it had been disconnected. Amazingly, there was a dial tone this time. Maybe things are starting to turn around, he hoped.
He dialed Mary Jane's number and heard her familiar voice mail message: Hi, it's me. Sing your song at the beep. "Hi, M.J., its Peter. Everything's okay. I need to take care of a few things, but I'll be over at . . ." He glanced at his watch. "Between three and four, unless I get detained again." By now, she could probably figure out what that meant. "See you soon. Bye."
XXXXXXXXXX
Mary Jane was immensely proud of what she had in her longtime friend and new lover. She felt like a gold prospector who'd stumbled onto the biggest mother lode in history and had to keep mum about it. Peter's miraculous powers made him the strongest, fastest, and most desirable man in the world. Those same hands that stroked her body so sensuously were powerful enough to rip apart a truck. But he was also a genius who would one day achieve extraordinary success in his own right, without help from a rich, influential father, like her previous suitors. On top of all that, he was kind, caring, sensitive, humble, modest and had a terrific sense of humor. In short, he was everything that she could ever desire in a man.
But he was so ordinary looking, and had such an unprepossessing demeanor, that most people who passed him on the street wouldn't give him a second thought. And that was just fine by her. She didn't want anyone else taking a peek beneath that benign, harmless-looking outer veneer of his. That would be her secret, and hers alone to guard, protect, and cherish.
As hot water cascaded down her head and shoulders, Mary Jane closed her eyes and pictured herself and Peter alone on a South Seas island, standing naked under a waterfall in a lagoon surrounded by lush tropical gardens. She lightly rubbed her breasts, feeling her nipples and areolae begin to swell as she imagined him caressing her all over with those electrical fingers of his. Moaning softly, she touched her belly button, discovering an erogenous zone she never knew she had. And as she reached down and coaxed herself toward climax, she imagined her lover depositing his seed deep inside her body, making her the mother of a new species of human being. Her moans grew louder. At the last second, she pulled back, not wanting to unleash her passions until they were together.
When she finished showering, she wrapped a large towel around her torso and a smaller one around her hair. She stepped out of the bathroom and played back the waiting voice-message. Her heart skipped a few beats as she listened. He would be over in a few hours which, to her, was an eternity. She saved the message, went back into the bathroom, and picked up her razor.
XXXXXXXXXX
It was not until he was ready to walk out his front door that Peter finally noticed the summons. Just before he left to visit Connors, he'd picked it up and put it on his desk, without looking closely at it. Now that he saw what it was, a feeling of panic momentarily constricted his throat. My God, did Harry spill it already? He tore open the envelope . . . and breathed a sigh of relief. It was from the United States Immigration Court. He was to appear as a witness in the deportation hearing of one Rahi Aziz. Mr. Aziz? The owner of Joe's Pizza? What could he possibly have done?
He scanned the document looking for any other information that might be helpful. There was nothing, other than the address and telephone number of the immigration court and instructions for witnesses. The summons directed him to report to the federal building no later than nine o'clock on Monday morning. There was nothing else. Fortunately, the Federal Plaza was close to the N.Y.U. campus, so he wouldn't have any problems getting there. He put the summons down, making sure that it was burned into his memory before he walked out the door. The last thing he needed was a contempt-of-court citation. At the same time, he hoped that this hearing would not take too long. Finals were coming up.
Peter stopped at an ATM to transfer the funds he needed to buy an engagement ring for Mary Jane. Upon the death of Uncle Ben, Aunt May received a hundred thousand dollars from a life insurance policy. As a graduation present, May had given Peter twelve thousand dollars, and had told him repeatedly never to touch that money except in the most dire of emergencies. Unfortunately, Aunt May did not always make decisions that were in her best interests, especially with regard to financial matters. She had used up her share of the proceeds in trying to keep up with her payments, but had refused to let Peter help her out when she tried to get her mortgage refinanced, even when the need became painfully obvious. He vividly recalled the argument they'd had on the morning he took her to the bank.
"Please Aunt May," Peter begged, "We're not talking about all of it, just enough to make sure you qualify for the loan. That's all."
"Peter, no!" his aunt shot back with an intensity that belied her frail appearance. "You need that money more than I do. I'll get by. Always have, you know."
Look, I know I'm struggling, but I haven't had to tap into it yet. If you just let me . . ."
"I said NO!" Aunt May shouted. "If you do not end this discussion right now, I'll ask you to leave."
If only Aunt May had listened to him and taken the money, she would still be living in her house, Peter thought, regretful that he had not been more forceful. He found it so paradoxical that he could hold a wall up with his shoulders, yet be afraid of upsetting a fragile old lady. It distressed him when his aunt was so inflexible, yet he had to admit that her selfless stubbornness was the very thing he most admired about her. If I could be half of what she is, I'll be all right, he thought as he moved seven thousand dollars into his checking account. To date, it was the largest single transaction in which he'd ever engaged. He hoped that she wouldn't be too upset when she found out what he was going to spend the money on.
Two blocks from the bank, he found himself standing in front of a display case in Zale's - Greenwich Village. He scanned the rows of rings looking for the right one. He knew he would never be able to afford to give Mary Jane a ring the size of the one John had given her. But he would not do this on the cheap either—he wanted to get her a stone that symbolized the depth of his love for her.
"May I help you sir?" asked the elderly proprietor from behind the counter. He spoke with a strange brogue that sounded to Peter like a mixture of English and Dutch. A picture of South African diamond mines on the wall confirmed his national origin.
"Um . . . I want to buy an engagement ring," Peter told the gentleman, somewhat nervously. "I've got it narrowed down to these two, but I can't decide which one." He pointed to two rings near the bottom of the case. One had a round diamond while the other had a slightly smaller heart-shaped stone. The rings themselves were plain 24-karat gold bands.
"Excellent choices," the proprietor said with a smile. "Both about 1.3 carats, nice cuts. Either one would work, but let me show you something that will make your decision a little easier." He removed the heart ring from the case and held it in front of Peter for his inspection. "Look at the center of the stone. No matter which angle you view it from, you can always see a brilliant point of light deep inside. See?"
"Oh, yes . . . yes, I do," Peter responded enthusiastically.
"But that's not all," the man continued. "Fancy cuts like this heart typically cost about twenty five percent less than rounds of the same stone."
That sold Peter. "Do you have this in size four?" he asked.
"Let me see," The proprietor said as he took the ring to the office in the back of the store. A few moments later, he returned with the size that Peter had asked for.
"That will be six thousand, six hundred and seventy four dollars and twenty seven cents. Would you like to have this gift-wrapped?"
"Yes," Peter said, pulling out his debit card.
The proprietor punched in a new total. With the gift-wrapping, it came out to six thousand, six hundred and eighty one dollars and forth five cents.
Five minutes later, Peter was out of Zale's and on his way to Mary Jane's. As he passed a newsstand, his eye caught sight of a box of Cracker Jacks. He stopped and stared at it, his memory triggered. Suddenly an idea took hold. He purchased the Cracker Jacks and ran back to his apartment. Using a pen knife, he carefully opened the box, placed the ring inside, shook it up to ensure that the ring got lost amidst the caramel-covered popcorn and peanuts, and resealed the box so that it appeared to have not been opened. Then he wrapped the box in silver gift-wrap left over from Christmas. He suddenly regretted wasting his money on the ring-box, but he was sure that Mary Jane would love the way he was going to pop the question. He left his apartment for the second time that afternoon, confident that he would arrive at Mary Jane's on time for two days in a row.
XXXXXXXXXX
As Mary Jane went through her wardrobe, trying to figure out what she would wear for her second date with Peter, she remembered how turned on he'd been on the couch the previous evening. She selected her most provocative outfit: a very low cut pair of hip-hugging jeans and a designer t-shirt that had a gigantic pair of lips across the chest. The caption beneath the design said, for your eyes only in pink letters. The only thing she would wear underneath was pair of tiny white panties, the kind that were meant to be easily removed. She had a whole drawer full of those, courtesy of Louise, who'd bought them for her as a honeymoon gift. But, until the previous day, she'd had no desire to wear them.
At four o'clock, her door chimes rang. Without even bothering to ask who it was, she opened the door and launched herself at her boyfriend, nearly knocking him backwards.
"What's this?" Peter asked mockingly, "not even a hello?"
"Hi," Mary Jane giggled as she pulled her beau into her apartment by his lapels and slammed the door. Before he could recover his bearings, she jumped into his arms, wrapped her legs tightly around his thighs, and kissed him hard on the mouth. The luscious scent of her strawberry perfume filled his nostrils as her tongue gently pried apart his lips and lightly brushed his teeth, beckoning his mouth to open and let her in. He enthusiastically obliged. The joy he felt at her lips being on his was so great that he did not let her feet touch the floor for at least five minutes.
"M.J. . ." Peter gasped.
"What?"
"You're . . . suffocating . . . me," he protested, trying to push the words out between the delicious french kisses she was giving him.
"I don't care! I love you!" she moaned softly as she continued to press her mouth against his, knowing how much he really liked being smothered by her. But a few seconds later, out of breath, she finally released her grip on him.
"There's something I gotta see," she panted, yanking on his collar. Sure enough, his costume was there. "Nice long johns."
"Comes with the territory, I'm afraid."
"Am I complaining?" she said softly, touching it. She looked back up at him. "It's wet."
"It itches like crazy," Peter revealed, "and rides up the crotch a lot, too."
She had a suggestion. "Why don't you take it off and let me run it through the dryer for you?"
"That's a great idea, M.J," he said. "Can I use your bathroom?"
"No."
"Why not?" Peter asked, somewhat mystified by her refusal to grant what he thought was a rather reasonable request. "I need to change."
"Because," she answered, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I want a bachelorette party!"
"You want me to pop out of a cake?" he quipped.
"No. Just out of your costume." She caressed his cheeks and lightly brushed her hips against his crotch.
"Okay," he said mildly, apparently surrendering without a fight.
"You'll do it?" she asked, delighted that he was going to strip for her.
"Yeah, sure." he said, not even turning red.
What a change in him, thought Mary Jane. The Peter Parker she used to know would've frozen up at the mere thought of anything having to do with sex. That boy was gone. In his place stood a man who, outwardly at least, didn't seem to be afraid of anything. She decided to turn the heat up a little.
"Now, STRIP soldier!" she barked.
"Yes sarge!" he barked back, divesting himself of his "camouflage." When he was finished, he stood at attention and saluted. Without the gloves, boots, and mask, the costume reminded her of little kids' pajamas. She would've loved to take a picture of him holding a teddy bear.
"Get on with it!" she ordered with a giggle.
Fifteen seconds later, he was holding the costume in his hand, his clothes back on. The peep-show she'd been eagerly anticipating had been nothing more than a blur. "Can you show me where your dryer is?" he asked, a mischievous grin on his face.
She should have known that he'd find a way to trick her. "Peter Parker, you cheated!" she exclaimed, trying to force a pout. "I want my money back!"
"What can I say, M.J.?" he laughed as he fished the rest of his outfit from the pockets of his jacket. "The hand beats the eye every time."
"Just you wait, Mister," she said as she glided into his arms. "I'll fix your wagon but good before the night's through!"
"I certainly hope so." He grinned slyly as he put his arms around her and kissed her again, unable to get enough of her sweet, sensuous lips puckering against his.
"What settings?" she asked as she took the costume from him and placed it in her dryer.
"Delicate— about a half hour." A second later, the dryer started whirring.
Meanwhile, Peter produced a small box from the inside breast pocket of his jacket and put it in her hands. It was covered by silver gift-wrap. Yet there was no card, and no bow.
She started to open the box, but Peter apparently had other ideas.
"Hold off," he said with a smile. "I'll tell you when the time is right."
"Ooookay," she said, carrying the box into her bedroom and putting it on her night stand, not thinking to question him about why she had to wait.
In the middle of her living room, amidst soft music and softer lighting, the two of them slow-danced until sundown. Mary Jane was a big music afficionado. She had a large CD collection of soft rock and slow tunes spanning the last fifty years. They danced to everything, from Unchained Melody to Stairway to Heaven, all the way through to the present. Holding Mary Jane close, taking in her perfume's titillating fragrance, fanned the flames of Peter's desire, flames that had been burning for so long he could hardly remember a time when he didn't feel them. As they slowly turned and glided around her living room, he slipped his hands beneath her t-shirt and gently massaged her back and her stomach. Aroused by both his soft touch and the electric tingling, she whispered to him. "I would really like to show you the rest of the apartment."
She took him by the hand and led him into her bedroom. It was sparsely furnished, but there was a nice queen-size bed, a decorative night stand, and a dresser with a few stuffed animals sitting on top of it. To create a more intimate atmosphere, she set the dimmer down about half way and tuned the clock-radio to a soft-rock station.
"Nice digs," Peter said softly, pinching himself to make sure that he wasn't dreaming.
She motioned him onto the bed and he obliged. The mattress was firm and very comfortable. She sat down next to him.
"Peter, I want you to massage my back again," she whispered hungrily as she turned her body away from him and removed her t-shirt, "my whole back this time." She lay face down, nude above the hips. Her jeans were low enough to give Peter a tantalizing glimpse of the tops of her buttocks.
His heart pounding as rapidly as a jackhammer, he did as she asked, starting at her ass, gently kneading her lower back, working his way up to her waist, her shoulder blades, her shoulders, and finally, to the back of her neck.
"How's this M.J.?"
"Really good Pete, really good." she responded softly, straining to keep from giggling. It was more than really good. It was fabulous. She had never had such stimulating massages as she'd received in the last two days. Whatever it was that helped him scale skyscrapers was magnifying many-fold the erotic effects of his touch. His charged fingers, lightly touching the skin of her arms, neck, and back, were driving her crazy with desire, just as they'd done the night before.
"Maybe you should quit school and become a masseuse, honey." she teased. "Rich women would pay thousands for this."
"Good idea, M.J., except that Connors would blow a gasket. Besides," he added slyly, "would you really want me doing this for anybody else?"
She thought it over quickly. "Naaaaaaahhhh." Then she asked, "Want me to return the favor?"
Peter's excitement, already in overdrive, rose yet another notch at the thought of her hands intimately touching him. "Er . . .uh . . .um . . . can you?" he stammered.
"I've got a little magic of my own," she whispered seductively. "Lie down on your back,"
"My back?" Peter asked in surprise, "but I thought you wanted . . ."
"Yeah, on your back," she said as she turned towards him, "Now, take your shirt off and lie down. You have to take your shirt off for me to do this." Her breasts bounced enticingly as she shifted her position and helped him pull off his turtle neck.
For at least ten seconds, Mary Jane just sat there, doe-eyed, marveling at Peter's physique as he lay beneath her, bare-chested. She could not believe that this was the same person that Flash Thompson used to refer to contemptuously as Puny Parker. She savored his tightly defined pectorals, muscular arms and shoulders, and washboard stomach. She lightly stroked his chest and shoulders. He was rock-hard and taut all over, as though his skin was stretched over steel. Hot steel! she thought in anticipation.
"Peter," she said softly, "can you show me where that spider bit you?"
"You figured that out, huh?" he said, impressed, and pointed to a spot on his right hand, about half way between his thumb and forefinger. "Right there." There was nothing to mark the spot, not even the tiniest of scars. It had long since healed. That was too bad, Mary Jane thought, because there now was no boo-boo that she could kiss.
She stroked his hand, noticing that the bottom of his palm was slightly enlarged. "Don't touch," he cautioned gently as she held his hand closer for inspection.
"Is that your trigger?" she asked. He nodded.
"How 'bout letting me see the rest of it," she asked coyly, tracing a line along his wrist with a finger until she arrived at the spot where his spinneret was. There was another slight bump, at the center of which was a star-shaped slit. It was barely noticeable. In its center a tiny, pearl-like drop of web fluid glistened. She licked the webbing, then pulled back. It tasted bitter.
Teasingly, she moved her lips up along his arm, causing him to shiver. When she arrived at his shoulders, she kissed and bit them in the hopes of leaving a hickey. She did, but to her chagrin, the flower-shaped mark faded immediately, giving her a first-hand demonstration of his recuperative powers.
Next, she kissed his neck and worked her way up to his ear, nibbling on it as if it were her favorite snack. A soft moan escaped from him as her tongue explored the inner recesses around his eardrum. He turned his face toward hers, and their lips met for a long, drawn-out, open-mouthed kiss. Her long strawberry tresses fell over his head, covering it like a curtain.
Maneuvering back down, she ran her fingers across his pecs, this time more slowly. Then she began kissing his nipples, her tongue flickering over them, tasting the salt. She delighted in watching Peter struggle to maintain an outward air of nonchalance as she continued her relentless assault on his willpower. Turning her attention to his six-pack abdominals, she delicately pressed her lips and tongue against each one, starting from the uppermost and slowly working her way toward his belt. By the time she got there, he was coming apart at the seams, and she knew it.
She smiled exultantly as she rubbed the swollen member hidden inside his trousers. "My, my, we're really growing down there, aren't we, tiger," she giggled softly, the lust in her sparkling eyes unmistakable as she nibbled around his fly. He inhaled abruptly as he felt his pants being undone and her long, slender fingers lightly touching his black briefs.
"Somehow, I'd always pegged you as a boxers kind of guy," she remarked.
"Surprise," he managed to say, amazed that he was still coherent.
"I'll say," M.J. agreed, a wicked smile lifting the edges of her mouth. He held his breath, but she wasn't quite ready to see the most intimate parts of his anatomy. She wanted him to prolong her own arousal first.
"Touch me Pete," she whispered, "touch me and kiss me all over, like I just did with you." A tremor ran through his body as he maneuvered around the bed to get on top of her. Slowly, he moved up and down across the front of her body, using his hands, lips and tongue to caress her throat, her chest and her stomach. He kissed her breasts, letting his tongue gently stimulate her areolae while he touched her midriff. Her hips started to thrust up and down like a piston, her desires fueled as much by his kisses as his electrical fingers. "Oh Peter, that turns me on soooohhhh much!" she purred as his tongue explored her belly button. Suddenly, she grabbed his head with both hands and gently pushed it downward. "Kiss me down there!" she begged. In response, he undid her zipper, pulled her jeans down, and peeled back her panties, exposing red pubic hair that had been neatly sculpted into the shape of a heart. Her hips rocked faster, causing the heart to undulate. She was ready . . . but he was not.
His head snapped up. Her panties snapped back.
Mary Jane stiffened with surprise.
Now what? she thought, anxious and exasperated that he was going to cut it off again, just as her arousal was reaching its peak.
"You're still a virgin, aren't you?" Peter asked quietly.
Stunned, Mary Jane bolted upright.
"Yes, but . . . you knew?"
"I had a hunch. I just want to make sure that this is really what you want, okay?"
She was relieved that he did not have some previously undiscovered intimacy problem. "Peter, believe me, if I didn't want this to happen, you would not be in my bed," M.J. told him candidly. "But that's why I'm so crazy about you—you're the only man I ever dated who cared enough to ask." She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "To be honest though, I was never really that hung up about keeping my virginity intact. It's just that I never really felt aroused in any of my relationships . . .until now."
Peter's eyebrows went up. That really surprised him. "Not even with Flash?" he asked, recalling how jealous he felt whenever he saw Mary Jane with that merciless bully . . . and how he practically jumped for joy when he found out that they broke up.
"Are you kidding?" Mary Jane laughed a little harshly. "Especially not with Flash! He was a neanderthal, a pig who couldn't keep his damn paws off me! At the senior prom, he slobbered all over me and kept putting his hand inside the slit of my gown! It was so embarrassing! Then he wanted to take me to Rockaway Beach to watch the sun rise, and probably to thrash around on the sand, but I just said, 'no Flash, just take me home.' " Peter knew she'd gone to the prom with Flash, but never figured that she had such a lousy time. He gave her a look of sympathy as she went on. "With Harry, I guess the best way to describe it is like trying to send a hundred watts through a 25-watt bulb. And John . . ." She paused, obviously still feeling guilty over the circumstances of their break-up. "With John, I guess I wanted it to be there, but it never really was."
Mary Jane was anxious to put those chapters of her life behind her and did not want to continue that discussion. But Peter's observation had piqued her curiosity. "Are you still a virgin?" she asked, pretty much knowing the answer but wanting to hear him admit it.
"Yes, " he answered, almost with pride, "and you're the only one I ever thought about surrendering it to."
"But what would you have done if I'd gone ahead and married John?" she asked, her eyes widening in amazement at this new revelation.
Peter shrugged. "I dunno. Probably become a priest, or a monk . . . something like that."
Mary Jane's whole face glowed. Tears started to form in her eyes. "Oh Peter," she said, a choking sound escaping from her throat, "that's . . .so . . . sweet." She was so moved that she was at a loss for words. Women all over the city, many of them more beautiful than she was were enamored of Spider-Man. Over the last two years, she'd heard hundreds of them tell Eyewitness News how much they wanted to get inside his tights. And he could have had any of them, had he so chosen! But he only wanted her. And if he couldn't have her, he wouldn't have anyone. No one else had ever made her feel that special.
Peter drew a deep breath as he glanced over at the silver-wrapped box on Mary Jane's night stand. "It's time," he whispered nervously in her ear.
"For what?" she asked, intrigued, as he reached over her to retrieve the box.
"For you to open your present," he whispered as he placed it lovingly in her hands.
She eagerly tore off the paper. Peter was amused to see that M. J. was not sentimental about gift wrap. Her expression changed from excitement to bewilderment when she saw what it was that Peter had wrapped so nicely.
"A box of Cracker Jacks?" It was her favorite candy when she was a kid.
"M.J.," he said, "do you remember the first time we ever spoke to each other?"
Mary Jane blinked, puzzled by the sudden change of topic. "Well, I uh . . . when we moved into Forest Hills?" she guessed.
"Close," he responded. "It was the first day of school. We were riding home on the bus and you were crying because you lost that box of Cracker Jacks your mom packed for you."
The details of that long-forgotten encounter filtered up from her subconscious. "Peter, we were in the first grade. You remember that?"
"I never forgot it. Don't you know what I said?" he asked as he tousled her hair. She shook her head.
"I said that I would find it for you."
"Oh, come on," she said skeptically, "you're not going to tell me that this is the same box, are you?"
He did not answer. He just leaned over and kissed her.
"Hey Pete," she asked as she opened the box, "Do you remember the Cracker Jacks jingle?
"Sure." They sang it together. "Candy-coated popcorn, peanuts and a prize. That's what you get in Cracker Jacks." He was pleasantly surprised to discover that she had a good singing voice.
"Would you like some?" she asked invitingly. He held out his hand so that she could pour him some of the mixture. When she lifted the box away, he picked up a peanut and motioned for her to open her mouth. She did, and he fed it to her.
She gave him the box, and he, in turn, poured some into her hands. She fed him one of the popcorns as their eyes met. It was an incredibly erotic moment for both of them. They kept pouring and feeding each other until, when the box was almost empty, something else fell into Mary Jane's palm.
"Oh, look M.J." he said, smiling slightly in anticipation of her reaction. "There's your prize." When she saw what it was, she jerked her head up and gasped.
"Oh, My God, Peter is this . . . ?"
"It sure is. Do you have any idea how many boxes I had to go through before I found it?" And, in a sudden burst of confidence, Peter grabbed the ring, did a midair somersault, landed on the floor, and started to get down on one knee. But in his haste he'd forgotten to zip up his pants. They dropped while he was still airborne, revealing the tiny briefs that showed off his muscular frame so well.
"Oops. Wait a second . . . uh . . . sorry Mary Jane," he blushed, pulling his pants up, embarrassed at his own klutziness during such an important moment. Mary Jane started to laugh hysterically at the prospect of Peter proposing to her with his pants down. She completely forgot about her own state of undress.
Recovering, Peter still managed a graceful kneel-down. "Will you marry me, Mary Jane Watson?" he asked as he gently slipped the ring onto her finger. He'd guessed right—it was a perfect fit.
Mary Jane still couldn't stop laughing. Actually, she was laughing and crying at the same time. Tears of joy flowed from her eyes as she threw her arms around him. She hugged him so tightly that he wondered if she would squeeze his guts out. "Are you kidding me ya big dope?" she sobbed happily, pulling her own pants back up, but not zipping them. "Of course I'll marry you! I love you so much Peter Parker! You're the only man who makes me feel like I can reach up to the sky and grab the stars! I've never had that with any one before, and I don't ever want it to end! I really, really . . . really love you! And I can't wait to be your wife!"
She squeezed his hand, hard, . . .and in the wrong place. Startled, she jumped as a webline shot out of his wrist and knocked the lamp right off her night stand. Thanks to her plush carpet, however, the lamp did not break.
"Mary Jane, didn't I tell you not to touch me there!" Peter kidded her.
So that's how it works, she thought."After we're married, can you spin us a web like the one you did on the pier?" she joked, "it would sure make for some really raunchy sex."
Peter chuckled, rolling his eyes in mock dismay. "Oh great! I've fallen in love with an arachnophile."
"Arachno . . . what?"
"Someone who's got a thing for spiders."
Mary Jane giggled. "Awwwww Peter, that's so disgusting . . . but I like it."
"You know M.J.," he said as they took off each other's pants and nestled under the covers, "you get a really great deal out of this."
"How's that, tiger?"
"You can marry me and two-time with Spider-Man without ever feeling guilty."
"Are you implying that I am of questionable moral character, sir?" Mary Jane giggled, feigning indignation in Cecily mode.
"Well, to tell you the truth my dear, I much prefer not to give you an answer," he responded playfully in a pseudo-British accent, finally nailing Algernon down. "To give a truthful answer under circumstances such as this might not be prudent as it could very well lead to massive bodily contusions."
That sounded like a "yes" to Mary Jane. "Oh, you . . ." she said as she affectionately whacked him with her pillow.
As they lay in bed together, cuddling each other, Mary Jane held up her left hand, admiring her new engagement ring.
"Do you like it?" he asked tenderly.
"Yes, but . . .how could you afford it?"
He told her about his uncle's life insurance policy. Once more, M.J. felt the tickle of tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. The fact that he was willing to spend half his life savings on a ring spoke volumes about the depth of his commitment to her, and affirmed yet again that she had made the right choice. The diamond that John had given her was twice its size, and had probably cost somewhere in the high five-figure range, but Mary Jane suspected that John's father had fronted him the money. He could never have afforded a ring like that on just an Air Force Officer's salary.
She looked into her lover's warm blue eyes and smiled. He smiled back.
"Hey tiger," she whispered, "can you do that massage thing again?"
"What massage thing?" he asked, pretending not to know what she was talking about.
"You know," she cooed, "that electric thing you do with your fingers that leaves me tingling all over . . ."
"Oh, that," Peter said casually. "You know M.J., I think you're starting to become a nymphomaniac. I don't want to be responsible for corrupting your morals."
"Since I haven't had a sex life, I have no morals to corrupt. . ." She stopped, realizing that, as usual, it didn't quite come out the way she'd intended. "You know what I mean," she blushed.
Peter relented at the sight of a rosy hue spreading across her lovely face. "Well, all right. Would you like another back rub?"
"Not exactly." M.J. got up and turned her light off. Then she climbed back into bed and lay next to him, placing his hand on her navel. "Start there," she whispered, her voice becoming seductive.
He lightly rubbed her belly button, working his way outward in concentric circles. She must have felt the effects immediately, because she suddenly jerked upward and started to moan and giggle at the same time. Good Lord, he mused happily, she must really be enjoying this.
"Lower Pete," she gasped, "lower." She helped him take her panties off, moaning louder as his hands got closer and closer to where she wanted them to go. Her hips began to gyrate as he gently played with her clitoris, which was now distended and throbbing. She threw back her head and screamed in delightful agony as the tiny electrical surges in his fingers fired the sensitive nerves in her genitalia, stimulating her entire body from head to toe.
Totally aroused, Mary Jane reached under the blanket and ripped away his briefs. "Jesus Peter," she panted. "You're huge! Now I know you love me!" She locked her legs around him and drove her pelvis into his loins, crying out in ecstasy while her hand guided him in. Their bodies thrashed wildly together as long-suppressed passions crashed through self-imposed inhibitions like water bursting through a dam. The peak of their mutual climax lasted for well over a minute. Mary Jane felt a tingling sensation all over as Peter's life essence became a part of her. And what amazed Peter even more than making love to the woman he once considered unattainable was that she had longed for this moment as much as he had. As their arousal ebbed, they held each other closely and looked deeply into each other's eyes, knowing that their last remaining links to childhood were gone forever.
To Peter's list of attributes, Mary Jane added, fantastic in bed.
"You okay M.J.?" Peter asked his newly-minted fiancée as he somehow managed to find his voice again.
"Oh yes, Peter," she whispered. "This is so far beyond anything I'd ever imagined. I . . ." She cocked her head and listened. The Beatles' Real Love was being played on the radio. She sang along with John, Paul, George, and Ringo: "All my little plans and schemes . . .Lost like some forgotten dream . . .Seems that all I really was doing . . . Was waiting for you . . . No need to be alone . . . It's real love, it's reeeeeeeal, yes it's real love, , it's reeeeeeeal . . ." She stroked his face as she sang.
"I guess that song says it all, doesn't it?" he asked, thrilled beyond measure at being serenaded by his beloved red-haired siren.
"Yes," she whispered, lightly caressing his chest, her fingers twirling whatever hairs she could find. There weren't many.
"I never knew you were such a screamer, Mary Jane," Peter teased her gently.
She smiled and dropped her eyes, still feeling a little overwhelmed. "Neither did I."
"You may want to tone it down a bit, so that your neighbors won't think you're being raped or something."
"Oh, no need to worry about that," she reassured him. "The walls in this building are two feet thick." She paused for a minute, then added, "But if you're that concerned about it, maybe we can spend tomorrow night at your place."
"Forget it M.J.," Peter said emphatically, his ocean blues twinkling at her. "You've seen that place yourself. It's a rat hole. Besides, the walls there are paper-thin. Everyone in the building would hear us, and Ditkovitch would have me arrested for disturbing the peace."
Suddenly, he tensed up. Something else came to his mind. Something far more worrisome than the noise. "M.J.," he asked in concern, "are you practicing birth control?"
"Oops," she said, demurely lowering her lashes.
Peter almost hit the ceiling—literally. He jumped up off the bed and came within inches of striking his head on her light fixture. How could I be so goddamn stupid, not wearing a condom! he thought frantically.
Mary Jane was amused at his extreme reaction. "Take it easy, tiger," she laughed. "I was only kidding. I'm on pills."
"Jesus M.J.," Peter gasped. "Don't even joke about a thing like that! You really rattled me there."
"That was the idea, sweetheart." she said, a hint of laughter still giving a lilt to her voice. "I just wanted to see if there was anything that can rattle you."
"There is, believe me," Peter replied seriously.
"Like what?" she asked softly, tracing circles on his chest with her finger.
"Losing you."
"Ditto. . . . what else?"
Peter thought for a moment. "Facing Bruce Banner when he's angry."
"That's a good answer," she said. "Anything else?"
Peter gave her a sly look. "Aunt May finding out that we slept together."
"Would she still like me?" Mary Jane asked, blowing softly into his ear. "Or would she think that I've corrupted her sweet, upstanding, innocent little nephew?"
"I would definitely say the latter," he deadpanned.
"Heeeeeeyyyyy." She playfully pounded his shoulders, then let him gather her in his arms for another long, satisfying kiss. As he cuddled her, she felt that magical part of his body pressing against her thigh.
"Hey Pete," she giggled, "why are men like the Hulk?"
"I have no idea," he murmured, distracted by her alluring curves, the sweetness of her soft skin, and the captivating scent of Emma Rose strawberry perfume.
"Because whenever they get excited, they just GROW!" Her giggling turned to laughter at her own joke.
"Aww, M.J.," Peter said, barely able to keep a straight face himself, "that is really awful! As Aunt May would say, 'Shame on you!' "
"Okay, okay. It was a bad joke, I admit it." Nibbling on his ear again, she asked coquettishly, "Does the big boy want to play some more?"
Peter didn't say a word. He just smiled. At that, Mary Jane slid down and flickered her tongue over the most sensitive spot on his anatomy. The unbearably erotic sensation excited him so much that he shifted around in order to kiss her down below while he caressed her backside with his magic fingers.
They made love a second time, and then a third. Mary Jane was sure that no other woman in the world had ever experienced this level of intensity during sex. Finally, their passions spent, they laid back in each other's arms. She rested her head on his shoulder while he gently stroked her cheek and ran his fingers through her hair. Feelings of closeness, contentment and long-sought peace settled over them.
"I love you," Peter said to Mary Jane as he hugged her. "I just can't stop saying it."
"And I just can't stop hearing it," Mary Jane whispered. "Tell me again, tiger." He kept repeating it, giving her a kiss each time, until they both started to drift off.
It was close to midnight by the time they finally fell asleep. Just before he closed his eyes, Peter looked up at Mary Jane's window. The light of a full moon was shining through the blinds. Thank you, he said to God once again for sparing him the consequences of his foolish decision to let her go.
Three hours later, he awoke, feeling surprisingly refreshed, as if he had slept the whole night through. He got out of bed, refusing to allow himself to think about how much he wanted to be with Mary Jane when she woke up. There was still a job to be done, a job that only he could do.
Swiftly, he put his costume on and wrote Mary Jane a note, explaining that he had to "make his rounds." and telling her about the upcoming court appearance. He finished with, I'll call ASAP, and left the note on her night stand. Just before he slipped away into the night, he whispered into her ear, in a voice that was barely audible, "L'amo cosí, Maria Giovanna Watson-Parker."
It was too dark for him to see the corners of Mary Jane's mouth move slightly upward.