Dear Mrs Harris,
It is with the utmost sorrow and regret that I am writing to inform you -“
“Pink. They’re pink.”
“You can really see the colour of my panties?”
He couldn’t. On the other hand, he could see the delicate bones of her pelvis, narrow, like the jawbone of a baby shark. The point at which the bones gave way to warm flesh, almost invisible. The tiny lacework of veins and arteries, like rivers finding their way to the sea, here blue, here scarlet. All this he could see. And the blush, which told him he had been right.
“So..” She tried to ride out the momentary awkwardness. “What’s it like, being super?”
“Super!” he replied, without hesitation, but it wasn’t really true. Flying was fun, the responsibility of having God-like powers, on the other hand, was heavy. It was like being the father of all the world’s children, young and old alike. But Lois, now. Lois made it worthwhile. Such a lemony little thing, in her white dress smelling of fabric softener.
“Hey, you want to go up there?”
“Up there?” It wasn’t a question, really, more a play for time. While she thought about girl things, like, would her dress ride up in the night wind, and, had she deodorised?
He held out his arm, the old fashioned way. She stepped towards him, kicking off her high heels – who flies in heels, except Wonderwoman? – and he swept her in towards him, pulling her tight against his massive torso. She hardly had time to gasp before her feet left the ground.
The metres dropped, two hundred, three hundred, and more. Mist clung to her bare feet. Her dress – rode up. He didn’t mind at all. Sometimes it was nice not to have to use that x-ray.
He could feel her fear, cold sweat on her neck, held breath. She pressed against him, warm, vulnerable, human, her chin tipped up towards his face. He dropped a kiss on her open, frog-wet lips.
“It’s amazing!” Still, she didn’t dare look. “You won’t drop me, will you?”
“Never,” he said, and let her go. She floated in horror, so far above the earth she couldn’t even tell if she fell. Anticipating her thin scream, he swooped and caught her up again, against his breast.
It was enough to make her lose her inhibitions, as he knew it would. She wrapped bth legs about him, her arms linked behind his neck, her face buried in the hollow of his blue cloak. He wrapped the cloak about them both.
She shivered. He knew she felt him hot and hard against her belly. The dress she wore was very thin, and damp now from the clouds they flew through. He moved a hand to her small backside, rubbed it slowly under the cloak, under the wet dress, under those pink panties, letting heat flow from his palm to her body, and lust.
“I don’t -”
He knew she fancied him, he knew nice girls didn’t. As soon as she asked the question, he knew she just needed an excuse. If being a mile high above Nebraska wasn’t a good one, he didn’t know what was.
“You didn’t sign up for this?” He licked her frozen lips, her nose, her eyelids.
“Your hands are icy.” He took her locked fingers, prised them from around his neck, drew them down towards his crotch, ever warm.
Damn, these tights! They had no waistband, no convenient gap. He’d never needed one before. He’d never flown naked before, either.
He shrugged and the red and blue was gone, the muscles of his body naked against the cold wetness of hers, her nipples hard as peas. He slipped her straps down, pulled the cloth over her hips.
“Someone will see!”.
Such a prudish girl.
“Nobody to see.” They looked down together. Only mountains and lakes.
He laid her on the cloak, covering her, as if the air was the softest of beds. His skikn was as warm as fur. He was weightless and so was she. He balanced gently on her upturned breasts, like a gymnast. She held tightly to his mast, her legs locked in the small of his back.
“This must be what it’s like to ride a magic carpet,” she breathed.
“THIS is what it’s like to ride a magic carpet,” he said, and flipped her over in mid air, so that she sat astride him, fingers tangled in the hair of his chest, bodies meeting as a bird meets the sky.
She wasn’t afraid any more. Below, her feet dangled over the stars and the darkness of trees and fields. They rolled and coiled in the empty air, pushing on nothing but each other. Her dress swept away behind her like a loose sail.
He moved her, gently and with the immense power of an alien being, into him.
“I want you,” she cried out, the words all women say or think at a certain moment, and he remembered who he was and who she was, and when the moment came, he shouted, and whirled away from her, holding her tiny wrist in his great hand.
They hung there like two eagles and he came, great gusts pouring into space.
“- that your husband, Captain Elvis Harris, of the 4th Airborne Division was killed yesterday while carrying out a routine aerial operation, when his aeroplane encountered severe turbulence above Nebraska. It appears that Captain Harris’ plane was struck by a quantity of snow or ice formed at high altitude, a highly unusual occurrence….. Again, I offer you our deepest condolences.”
Nothing is free.