WARNING: EARLY WORK OF DUBIOUS MERIT. I wrote this story even before End Times, well over a decade ago. Hopefully, it proves that a writer can improve, even when revisiting the same silly ideas. Either that, or I still stink at this sort of thing. Its saving grace is to imagine it being read by the narrator of the old Superfriends Saturday morning cartoon (which was the tone I was trying to achieve).
Feel free to post , but I might cover my eyes when I read them.
Welcome to the continuing misadventures of Angelboy, our hapless young hero…
"Don't call me that."
What, hapless?
"No, don't call me Angelboy. Supergirl called me 'Angelboy' and now everyone does. And don't call me 'Ultraboy' either. That's what Teenybopper Beat Magazine calls me, and it's even worse."
Okay, what should we call you then?
"My name is Alexander."
What kind of superhero name is 'Alexander'?
"It means 'protector of humanity' in Greek. How more superheroic can you get?"
Okay, okay, good point. Can we start again?
"Sure."
Welcome to the continuing misadventures of Alexander (Angelboy to his friends or should we say his Superfriends), our…
"Hey!"
Ahem. Our hapless young hero cloned from the remains of Alexander the Great and infused with the spirit of the Sun itself. First the boytoy of the wicked villianess Dr. Jean Splicer and her naughty Splice Girl Gang…
"Don't remind me."
But now free to combat evil with his endless reserves of strength, stamina, and angelic bodily fluids!
"Oh, gross!"
Our story begins under the boardwalk of Beach Island, pleasant getaway from the City of Metropolis during the heat of summer…
…Where evidently Angelboy is hiding like a coward!
"Look," says Angelboy from the deep shadows cast by the boardwalk, "hiding from Supergirl when she is horny is not cowardice. It's common sense."
She's got x-ray vision, you know, so what use is hiding?
"I'm hiding in the one place she wouldn't think of, the one place I would not dare go."
Where, under the boardwalk?
"No!" Angelboy shouts, and then scrambles about in the shadows nervously. "No," he whispers urgently, "Beach Island, so close to my superheroic weaknesses."
So then why are you crawling around in the dark? As if on cue, the cadence of small dainty feet ripples on the wood overhead.
"Did you hear?" comes an excited girlish voice.
"What?" asks another.
"Angelboy is here!" cries a third.
"Oh my God!" the second voice sighs. "He is so cute it kills me!"
"A bunch of us are getting together to look for him. Wanna come?" the third says.
"Are you kidding! Let's go before some bitch grabs him!"
The voices burst into a fit of giggles, feet tramping down the boardwalk as they run into the distance. After a long pause, Angelboy asks, "Are they gone?"
The narrative voice can't answer questions like that and you know it.
"I'm not moving until I'm sure I'm safe," Angelboy insists.
Okay, we'll help you out. But first come into the light and show the audience what the fuss is all about.
"It's a deal," Angelboy says. A shadowy form uncurls and steps into the lines of light shining through the slats of the boardwalk. The shadowy form becomes a figure so fine Michelangelo would give up sculpting forever if he saw it. A young lad of…Wait, what's the age of consent in the jurisdiction of Metropolis?
"Um, eighteen?"
Dang. Ah well. A young lad of barely legal age…
"Aw, jeez, you're sick."
…Alexander stands before us with skin the color of honey. His hair crowns his head in lazy locks as if spun from purest gold. His verdant eyes flash mischievously behind thick lashes. His heart-shaped face frames a Roman nose and cherubic lips. The soft lines of his hairless, muscular frame…
"Hey! That's enough," Alexander says, crouching in modesty.
Sorry, we got carried away. A deal is a deal. There's a comic book shop about ten minutes south down the boardwalk. If you stay in the back browsing through old Marvel issues, no one will notice you. After sunset, it'll be safe.
"Thanks!" In a blur of superspeed and sand, Angelboy darts away.
Hm? Yes, of course we lied about it being safe after dark. We wouldn't want Angelboy to miss the real fun now, would we? Stay tuned!
Dusk settles over Beach Island as Alexander grows weary of flipping through stacks of comic books in the shop's back room. "Reading these things when you are a superhero is like watching that Biography show, but on people you already know." Angelboy flicks through another dusty cardboard box at random, coming across the old Great Literature comic series, starting with his favorite, Treasure Island. "Now that's more like it!" He settles in a chair for some fun reading.
Now if we all stay quiet, our young hero will be so distracted by the comics he won't notice the shop closing for the night until…
The florescent lights overhead wink out and the security lights flash on. Alexander drops the issue of The Man in the Iron Mask, blinking. "Aw, you should've told me!" He walks out of the back and tries the front door. Locked, of course. His superhearing picks up the whine of the store's security system. Breaking out-although easy for him-would just draw attention. He peers out the glass of the front door. The boardwalk is less crowded, with no sign of the hordes of bikini-clad girls. A tall woman rides past the shop, her roller-blades growling over the boardwalk, features hidden by the night.
"Looks safe," Alexander muses, "but is there a better way out?"
Then he hears a dull thumping noise from the back room, the droning bass of a loud stereo. Checking out the back room again, Angelboy finds the unlocked back door.
"Thanks!" he says.
(He won't be thanking us soon! Heh.)
Clad only in swim trunks, Alex is not dressed for blending into crowds at night. He picks out a dreary Batman t-shirt from a rack on the wall before leaving. "How does he get royalties without revealing his secret identity?" On the other side of the wall is the girl's section, displaying lots of white and pink t-shirts and sexy tops. Almost every last one is decorated with Alexander's face or just "Angelboy" splashed across the chest.
Alexander closes his eyes. "It's just a fad," he intones. "You're the latest addition to the Hall of Justice and the newest face on the block. It won't last forever."
Opening the back door reveals a communal storage area for the line of boardwalk shops. The buzzing beat gets louder as he checks locked door after locked door. After a few anxious minutes, one door opens readily. Loud pop music pours out, colored lights spin and flash on the wall behind him.
"Oh great," Angelboy sighs, "a dance club!"
He slips inside, closing the door soundlessly behind him. He finds himself in a huge square hall, standing next to a towering speaker. Strobes flash overhead while the music slams out an addictive rhythm. The floor is packed with dancing bodies, writhing and bobbing in the gloom. The exit is all the way on the other side. A DJ spins records on a raised platform in the middle of the place. He leans into the microphone and croons, "Hello, Metropolis! Let's get this party started right: welcome to ladies' niiight!"
The crowd lets out a happy cheer, but our hero just groans and hangs his head. Flying over the crowd is right out, he realizes. Superspeeding through it could get someone seriously hurt. No one's noticed our hero yet. In this light, no mortal eyes could pick him out. If he's careful, he can just dance his way out!
"Yeah, yeah," Alexander says, "I know, I know. Don't I have a say in this?"
Across the long hall, the front door opens. Metropolis Community College's women's volleyball team bounces in, waving their hands above their heads and cooing "Ooo! Ooo!" to the rhythm.
"Stop it!" Alexander whines. "I'm going! I'm going!" The beat is very catchy. Alexander insinuates himself into the crowd with ease.
"Hi," sings a girl nearby. In the strobe he can just see the white of her smile and her hair whipping about. She crouches and swings around to the beat.
"Hiya!" Alexander calls back, imitating her move, using the momentum to dance closer to the front door. The girl gives him a happy wave goodbye and continues to bop.
"Say," Angelboy realizes. "This is kinda fun!" He bounces his way around the dancers, moving closer to the center of the room. "This'll be easy!"
Then his elbow bumps into the small of someone's back. "Oof!" she says, turning around.
"Hi," Angelboy says, trying to dance nonchalant. "Sorry 'bout that."
She looks down at him for a while, and slowly begins to dance again, eyes locked onto his. "No problem," she says over the music. They dance together for a few beats. She's a head taller than Angelboy, who stands just a few inches above five feet, a smidge taller than his clonal father. She's wearing a tight, shiny black top, emblazoned with the BEBE label, hugging her big breasts and thrusting them into his face. Her white jeans flare out at the cuffs, where she wears thick jelly clogs. She dances closer, nice and slow. The next thing Angelboy knows, all he can see is the word BEBE sparkling and jiggling in the strobe light. Shaking her head to the beat, she says, "You dance great!" One arm drapes innocently over Angelboy's shoulder.
He grins and looks up into his dance partner's face. Some of her sandy-blond hair drops onto his nose. "Thanks! You too! To be honest, I've never been to a club before." Why the heck did I have to say that, Alexander thinks, I must sound like an idiot.
"You're doing great!" she giggles as the beat slows down to a funky grind. Her other hand finds its way over Angelboy's hip. "What a great ass!" she gasps.
Angelboy, too caught up in his own embarrassment, says, "What?"
"Um, I said, 'What a great bass.' Here, let's dance slower. I'll show you."
Excited to be dancing with a college girl, Alexander lets her take the lead. The hand draped over his shoulder scoots behind his neck. The arm on his thigh snakes across his back. She pulls him toward her, pressing her belly into his, but keeps his head back so she can look into his eyes rather than mashing his face into her breasts. She rocks him back and forth, grinding up against him. Angelboy tries to glace away shyly, but her head bobs to follow his and fixes him with an intense gaze.
He soon picks up on the sensuous rhythm, losing himself in the beat. His swim trunks provide little support, and he can feel his erection grind up against the zipper of her pants. He smiles, coy and unsure what to do or where to look. Her fingers work there way into his hair. "God," she breathes, grinning like a schoolgirl, "you are so sweet." Alexander realizes she's teary-eyed with emotion.
Uh oh. Just as he feels the need to break away, he hears another girl call out, "Hey, what a cute butt! Who you got there, Alice?"
In a flash, Alexander's dancing partner tightens her embrace, burying his head in her bosom. All the lights wink out, even the X-rays of supervision. Between planting tiny kisses on the top of Alexander's head, the tall girl replies, "I don't know, but he's all mine."
The voice gets closer. "Sorority sisters share, Alice," it teases. "Even from behind I can tell I've never seen him before." A second pair of lips tickles his ear. "What's your name, honey?"
"Um," Alexander begins, his voice muffled by soft flesh, "I think I should be going…"
"What's that scent?" asks the second voice, a bit more throaty than it was before.
"That's him," Alice laughs, rocking him back and forth. "It's a cologne or something. Isn't it wonderful?"
The second girl leans in close to him. He can feel her hot breath fluttering against his ear. "God, that's yummy." She presses her lips against his ear for a long, slow kiss. "Mmm." Alexander feels her press up against his back. Whoever she is, she's shorter than Alice, but not by much, and even bustier. "How about we both dance with him, like this?" she suggests, and slides her arms over Alexander's hips, wiggles them between his body and Alice's, and presses her hands tight against his inner thighs.
"Oh, I like that," Alice sighs.
The two girls gyrate against him in a pounding rhythm. A hand finds it way over his hard-on. "Wow!" giggles the second girl, gently pumping her hand, "do you feel that?"
"How could I miss it?" asks Alice, squeezing his ass. "Keep going; let's see if we can make him cum in public!"
"Oh there you guys are! We've been looking for you!" cries a third girl. "Say," she says, sounding a little flustered. "What are you doing?"
Angelboy, sandwiched in the warmth between to two big girls, trying to control himself against the slow and relentless hand-job, squeaks out "No, not again..."
How will Angelboy get away from the two grabby coeds? Will he escape the club unmolested? (Isn't it too late to ask that question?) Why hasn't he used his superpowers? Stay tuned!
Meanwhile, back at the Hall of Justice, Wonder Woman makes a distressful discovery.
"Angelboy has gone off on his own again!" says the all-American Amazon striding into the Control Room.
"I know," replies Clark Kent without looking up from his laptop, "I asked Supergirl to look for him hours ago."
Wonder Woman glares at the mild mannered reporter sitting at the silver conference table. "Supergirl? Kara's the worst possible person to send!"
"But it will teach Alex a lesson," says Kent, not even trying to hide his grin.
The Amazon groans and rolls her eyes. She walks to the towering main viewer at the front of the room. Activating the Supercom, she radios, "Hall of Justice to Green Lantern."
The main viewer flicks to life. "Green Lantern here," says the man in the famous green suit.
"Angelboy has left the Hall without escort. I need to you track him down and bring him back."
"What, I'm your errand boy now?"
"Come off it," says Wonder Woman. "Supergirl is after him. If those two get started I can't separate them."
"Damn that Angel kid." Green Lantern glowers. "Understood. I'm on it. Lantern out."
As the Supercom clicks off, Kent comments, "He's jealous."
"Superman, you've got to stop treating Angelboy like he is your protégé," scolds Wonder Woman.
The rear door slides open, and orange-clad Aquaman bursts into the room, "Where the Hell is Alexander?"
"Clark," says the Amazon, putting a hand on Superman's shoulder. "Angelboy is dangerous."
"I'll say," Aquaman sighs, dropping into a conference chair, "he sunk Atlantis."
"And slaughtered the men of Paradise Island," Wonder Woman added.
"That was his clonal father," Kent dismisses, "not the kid himself. He's a Superfriend now."
"Diana and I only voted him in the Superfriends to keep an eye on him," Aquaman confesses.
"Besides, Clark, Alexander was the champion of the Sun long before you were even born." Wonder Woman returns to the main viewer. "Shouldn't that make you jealous?"
Kent folds up his laptop. "I've got to get this to the ‘Planet for tonight's run," is all he says.
We last left Alexander Angel, boytoy wonder, caught in the clutches of a couple of carnal coeds. Let's see how he's getting on, or should we say, getting off?
Nineties Madonna music ["…to know you is to love you…"] pours steadily over the standing-room only crowd in CLUB ROCKET, Beach Island's only nightspot. A frothing fog machine in the ceiling, lancing lasers, and starry strobe effects combine to render the dancers into a single chaotic mass of flickering gray shapes. It surges with life, pulsing to the rhythm.
Near the DJ's platform, six sisters of Epsilon Zeta sorority huddle in a circle. They're dressed for the night out in EZ sorority's signature skank-wear, black designer jeans and three-sizes-too-small men's v-neck undershirts. They shimmy to the beat and elbow strangers away.
Hidden in the huddle, we at last find our hero, stripped of dignity and almost everything else. Swim shorts tangled about his ankles, tee-shirt pushed up into his armpits, Angelboy dangles in the vice-like grip of MCC's star volleyball server, Jo Echo. She has her arms wrapped around Angel's bare chest, hands roving at whim.
"Can you believe these abs?" she asks her companion Alice. "I need to have this guy," she groans before surrendering to a more primal language. She hauls Angelboy up, sliding him over her body, so his sneakers just kiss the ground. Her shirt rides up, freeing her mocha-skinned breasts to crush against Alexander's bare back. With a guttural moan, she feasts wetly on his neck.
Alice stands inches in front of her, bending down to fix Angelboy with a fiery gaze. Her skintight top can't stand the strain and bows open to display the creamy curve of cleavage. With his supervision, Alex can make out the simple blue-ink tattoo on the rise of her left breast: an infant's pacifier. "C'mon, baby," she whispers, "do it for mommy."
She needs both hands to tease Angelboy's bobbing shaft. "Your big dick feels so strong" she sighs, closing her eyes. "Why won't you cum, baby? Mommy's been so good to you."
Alex, his face slick with sweat, twists against his captor's flesh. "You've got to help me," he whimpers falsetto.
Who are you talking to, the nymphos or us?
Jo drags her shuddering mouth over his ear. "Tell us what you need, honey," she says before sending her tongue spelunking.
"Get me outta here," Alex begs.
"Don't you worry," gushes one of the gawking EZ girls. "You're coming home with us."
We'll end this for you, but you've got to let "mommy" get you off. The audience demands a money shot.
"Deal," gasps Alex, eyes rolling back in his head.
"Yes!" hisses an EZ.
"Oh, Alice," Jo says, "I can feel him trembling!" Alice gives Alex a lazy smile before descending on his helpless manhood. One of Jo's hands follows Alice south. "I can't even hold both his balls at the same time," she giggles, squeezing.
Alice sinks her mouth over Angelboy's member with a triumphant mmph! It doesn't take long after that. Alice's eyes pop open as she stumbles away and falls flat on her ass, throwing her head back.
"Jesus Christ," Jo swears.
The circle of EZ's crane their heads upward, mouths agape in shock, as the money shot strikes the high ceiling. The ambrosial angeljiz sizzles as it splatters a spotlight. Angelboy slumps and slips out of his Jo's grasp, groaning quietly. Alice crawls toward him, chewing on her fingers. "Damn it," she coughs. "More, damn it, I need more."
The smeared spotlight begins to spark and wink.
Alice wraps her hands around his member as it fires off again, painting her face and hair with silver. She curls into a ball, massaging the stuff into her skin and working it into her hair. "Oh my God," she says as if lost in a dream.
The spotlight coughs up a plume of smoke as it melts and cracks under increasing heat.
"Holy shit!" shrieks Jo, letting Angelboy fall to the floor. "I have got to see that again!"
The spotlight's smoky heat reaches a fire sprinkler. The sprinkler system erupts into action. The emergency plumbing in the building has not been flushed out in years, so the water that rains down onto the crowd is far more solid and stinking and toxic than you'd otherwise expect. The music warbles and dies as the DJ booth throws off bright arcs of static and molten plastic. The crowd dashes toward the narrow front door. A heavy object d'art smashes through a window.
Unnoticed by the crowd, a dark figure rises into the very air. Its arms hang limp and its shoulders sag. It slowly drifts up into a corner of the ceiling. Colored arcs of electricity wriggle across the walls and ceiling like a B-movie special effect. The figure is struck dozens of time by the energy. The water soaking into its skin glows in tune, yet the figure seems unfazed by the deadly current. Once the club has completely emptied and a fire truck's siren wails in the distance, Angelboy drops down into the middle-air of the club and slips slowly into the sky above the sea.
Sure, our story ends in a bang, but won't Supergirl notice the blaze? What was up with that gratuitous appearance of all those Superfriends? And…Hello! No one answered our first question: Why didn't Angelboy use his superpowers? Stay tuned!
Wait, what would an incomplete pilot episode be without a cliffhanging epilogue?
Firemen clamor wearily onto their red truck and speed home for the night. What was once CLUB ROCKET has become a stinking, smoking black smudge leaking water and slime. Nothing but the sound of the surf can be heard…until the crunching of movement over broken glass disturbs the night. Something is stirring within the devastated building, pushing its way through the char and ruin.
A hunched figure steps out the broken window. Covered head to toe with sludge and soot, it slowly stands erect. The cloud obscuring the moon moves aside, providing just enough light to reflect the word stitched in glittering thread across the figure's chest: BEBE. "Damn," says Alice…reborn Bebe…in a voice far from human, "I need more."