I am returning to the message boards after a long absence. I started writing Reflections in 2003, and because of real life I had to stop. Life is calmer now, and while cleaning out my computer I found the half finished story. I decided that I wanted to finish it. Even more, there were some things I wasn't satisfied with in the original writing, and I've updated all of the original material, giving it a little different "feel". I don't have any Beta Readers right now, so I am taking volunteers. Even so I am posting the revised Part 1 now. I have about 2 months worth of postings are ready written, with about 5 more parts to go. My aim is to finish by Christmas (really, no kidding this time).
The premise of the story is simple: What if Lois never had the bad experiences with men as portrayed in the show, and Clark was a more secretive and distant person, both as himself and in his Superman guise.
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Reflections
by maxkeegan
Part 1
The light drizzle misted onto the streets of Hobbs Bays, gently washing away the city’s grime, while failed streetlights, neglected in disrepair, left the area shrouded in darkness. The gloom was broken only by the occasional flash of distant lightning. High above these darkened streets a man hovered in mid air, defying the sensible laws of gravity. Night hid his form, but a crack of lightning revealed the outline of a cape billowing behind him as he surveyed the area, looking for any witnesses his presence. If one could see his face, they would note the exhaustion etched into his features, and the hunched posture of a man drained to his core. Satisfied that the area was deserted, the man floated towards the side of a run down hotel. On top of the roof, the hotel displayed the name “Ap llo” in red neon, the middle ‘o’ long since broken and forgotten. The window of a room facing the alley on the top floor was wide open, allowing him entrance.
The man suddenly disappeared from the sky, and a scant second later the room’s window was closed shut. Inside, the man who could defy gravity finished pulling the drapes closed, and then walked to the wall switch to illuminate the small room with the solitary, naked light bulb that was screwed into the ceiling fixture. The light revealed a muscular man, a bit over 6 feet tall, wearing a skin tight, bright blue uniform. A red cape hang from his shoulders behind him, and his chest was adorned with a symbol that looked very similar to a stylized “S”. The uniform was scored with multiple black scorch marks, and in many places caked with dirt and soot.
He reached inside his top and released the fasteners to his cape, allowing it to fall to the ground. Next he slowly peeled the top of his uniform off, allowing it to hang down from his waist. He then stopped, and sat down heavily onto the bed. He leaned over and placed his face into his hands, and tried to rub the weariness from his eyes. It had been another hard night, with two competing disasters vying for his attention over the last 4 hours. He had spent all night flying back and forth between the two, trying to save as many lives as possible. Happiness and gloom warred within him on nights like this, making him second guess his decision to go public with his powers in the uniform his mother had created for him. He knew that he would have never been able to save as many as he did tonight if he wasn’t free to operate out in the open. Yet these nights reminded him how much responsibility, and how many expectations, the world had heaped upon him. Tonight had not been the worst, not compared to the aftermath of that earthquake in Mexico City last month, but it had been bad enough. And the combination of constant physical exertion at night, void of the sun’s power, and the emotional traumas that he dealt with as a matter of course in rescuing people, had drained him. He didn’t even know if he had the energy to remove the rest of his uniform and shower off the soot and grime of the evening.
Maybe he should go visit the farm tomorrow. The world could get by without him for a few hours. He needed a little company right now to talk things out, and his folks were the only ones with whom he could talk freely. Though, sometimes he felt ... unfulfilled after his talks with his parents. He did love them dearly, but sometimes he felt that he was getting too old to dump everything on them. And there were just some things that they couldn’t provide him. Again he thought about how nice it would be to have a friend to talk to, or even a ... well he wasn’t going to go there again. A relationship with woman just wasn’t in cards for him. Not with the kind of life he lived.
And not after her.
Damn, he had avoided thinking about her for the last couple of months. He should think that after 3 years he could move on. He stared across the room at the lone battered table, where his eyes fixed on the stack of books placed in the corner. Slowly he rose from the bed and walked to the corner of the desk. He reached for the book at the bottom of the pile, picking up the well-worn copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets. He opened the back cover and removed the photograph that he had stashed there so long ago. He looked at the couple in the old Polaroid, both holding on to each other, and seemingly very happy. He remembered that day quite well, standing there with her on a beach in the south of France. The woman, whose dark hair outlined the soft, petite features of her face, had her arms wrapped around the man’s waist, with her head tilted to lay upon his chest. His younger, more innocent self looked back at him, holding onto the woman like she was the most precious thing in the universe. A sad smile hid the pain of the memories of those unforgettable four weeks he spent with her. At least they were unforgettable until that last day. The day she betrayed him, and took away the belief that he had found someone he could love... someone who could share his life.
Even more than that, she had taken away some of the hopefulness with which he approach the world and life. Before he had always held the hope that he could make a difference in the world. That there were many others who felt the same way and were trying to make the world a better place. He believed that the good ones outnumbered the bad in the world. But after her, he lost that hopefulness, that innocence, and had become more cynical, just like the rest of the world.
All right, not entirely. He couldn’t wear this suit, day in and day out, without some measure of optimism and hope. But he didn’t have the same optimism and hope for himself anymore.
A sigh escaped his lips, and he look dejectedly at the photograph again. After so much time separating him now from the man in the photograph, he still felt the twinge of regret that he had trusted his heart to this woman. And remorse that she only wanted to use him, and didn’t really love him. For a while after she was gone, he thought that he hated her, but he could never bring himself to do that. Whether it was because of his basic nature, or because some feelings still remained. He even sometimes wondered if he still loved her... if that what kept him from making any effort to seek out a relationship again.
No, he didn’t think that was it. He didn’t really feel that way about her anymore, especially after what she did to him. Their whole relationship had been a lie that she had fed him. In the end, she only wanted to use him to get what she wanted. He hadn’t even known her real name until those last few moments. No, it wasn’t love... it was the sadness of what could have been. Since then he had carefully guarded himself and his heart from the world. He even realized that he used his superhero activities to shield himself from the rest of the world. But he didn’t care, it was better for him this way.
So why did he keep this photograph? Was it to remind him of how he can’t so naive anymore, or was it just that he couldn’t let go the dream of someone with whom he could love. Damn, he didn’t want to think about her, especially after a long day like today. But she always seemed to invade his thoughts when he felt his worst. He ran his finger softly over the surface of the picture, once again searching for any honesty of what he thought they had. But he found none reflected in her eyes.
He placed the photograph back into the book, and set it back down on the table. He decided that he better get cleaned up before getting some rest. He still hadn’t settled on what to do in the next couple of weeks about living arrangements. He had been so busy the last month playing superhero, that he had neglected his writing and his other investigations. Staying in Metropolis for this long was not in his plans, but the city seemed to cry out for help. Being the largest city in the world, it naturally had more that its fair share of crime and disasters. But it had supplied him with ample information on his current investigation.
Normally he liked to spread his time out among many places in the world, never staying in one place for too long. Not only so he could share his abilities around the world, but he didn’t want to stay in one spot too long and be recognized by anyone. It aided his uncover work to remain essentially a ghost in the system. Plus he didn’t want to give any clue that he and his alternate ego were connected in any way.
True, the suit that his mom had designed for him did seem to distract people from his looks, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Though he really needed to give some thought to what to call himself when he was in the suit. A variety of names were ascribed to him around the world, and even after all the good he had done, there were still many people nervous about him because of his distant and mysterious nature. Maybe it was time to have more direct interaction with the public, and not worry so much about being recognized when he was wearing the suit. The glasses and hair change did seem to fool people, and he tried to look and act as ordinary as possible when not in the suit, and blend into the background. He had learned that people tended to see what they expect to see.
He finished undressing, tossing the dirty suit into his suitcase. Going to the bathroom, he turned on the water as hot as possible. Instead of showering at super speed, he took his time, letting the hot water sooth him. As he soaked in the hot water, he thought again what to do about earning some money again. Maybe writing some human-interest pieces for the local paper would do the trick. He laughed to himself, thinking how people would react if they knew that their mysterious superhero was living in a dump, barely getting by.
Finally running out of hot water, he shut off the shower and dried himself off. Donning a pair of sleeping shorts, he shut the light off, and hopped into bed. Too wound up from the day, he stared at the dark ceiling, with his thoughts drifting back three years ago, to the day he first met her...
[** The south of France, three years ago. **]
Clark reread the article in the French newspaper for the fifth time. ‘Nothing like seeing your name on a byline,’ he thought to himself. He was very proud of his article exposing the dealer of illegal firearms. He had spent 2 months tracking down clues before he had enough evidence to publish what he knew. It was often frustrating to have to take the time to prove things that he already knew were true, thanks to his special abilities. He knew that Claude Denoir was guilty when he first overheard him closing one of his illegal arms deals with his super hearing at the hotel that night. It took him two months, and a lot of late night stakeouts, to get the proof he needed to prove that he was trafficking stolen U.S. arms.
Clark folded the paper and set it down on the table. He took another sip of his latte and sat back to enjoy one of his favorite past times – people watching. The outdoor cafe afforded him a front row seat to the mix of tourist and local patrons in the seaside resort. He made a game of trying to guess where people came from merely by their actions and body language, and then he would tune in his super hearing for a moment to prove his guess by listening to their accents.
Ten minutes into his 'game' he made note of a woman and an older gentleman take the table next to his. The gentleman struck him as a local, his clothing matching the current fashions of the area, his movements those of someone familiar with his surroundings. The woman had her back to him, so he could make no guesses about her. She looked to be between 165 to 170 cm tall, with dark brown hair that she wore in a pony tail. Clark mentally shrugged and went on to survey the other tourist passing by the cafe. A few minutes later, he was just about to listen to a passing tourist, when his super hearing tuned into the conversation from the next table.
Man <in French>: “Mademoiselle, you cannot expect me to simply meet your price. I have to make a profit also when I sell it to my customer. In fact I am being very generous with the offer I have made.”
Woman <in French>: “Apparently you use the word ‘generous’ differently than the rest of the human race. If you think I’m going to let you take this shipment for a ‘steal’ you are sadly mistaken *Monsieur*. I put too much time into this deal to get out so little. And I’m not letting you pressure me into a low price.”
Both people were speaking French of course, and Clark noted that the man’s accent did indeed sound local. The woman, though speaking very good French, had the tell tale signs of an American accent. She must be one those merchandise brokers that seem to populate the port towns of Europe. Clark smiled to himself as he knew that by the tone of voice she put into the word *Monsieur* she really meant ‘low life pond scum’. But Clark thought that the man probably hadn’t caught that.
Man: “You know, I was hoping that we could come to an equitable arrangement. I have considered *all* of our business dealings most pleasant, and often have thought that you would make a good business partner. How do you Americans say it? Ah yes... I like your style. I think that we could do great things together, you and I. Even, dare I say, beyond just doing business together?”
Clark didn’t even have to look up to see the leer in the man’s face, and had to stifle a grin at the man’s corny come on to his lunch companion.
Woman: “Really? I didn’t know you thought about me that way. Well, that changes everything.”
The woman’s voice had taken on a breathless quality, but Clark could hear the underlining sarcasm in her tone. He was now looking at them with interest, because he knew that the man was going to get both barrels any second now.
Woman: “In that case, how could I refuse your offer? Wait, I know how... it’s because you’re an idiot. If you even for a second think that I would want to throw in with you, then you’re delusional. Furthermore if you believe that I would want to have some kind of relationship with you outside of business, then you are more than delusional, you are certifiable. There is no way I would go so far down the evolutionary chain to find a date.”
Clark couldn’t help himself, and he let out chuckle. The woman apparently heard him and turned around to look straight into his eyes. His heart skip a beat, both at the embarrassment at being caught, and by the sight of the beautiful woman who was boring her eyes into him. She, too, seemed unwilling to take her eyes off of Clark. Then after a moment, she gave him a small, evil grin, and turned back to her lunch companion.
Woman: “$1,000,000 - American. Take it or leave it.”
Man <dejectedly>: “I’ll take it.”
The man was obviously unhappy, and had the tone of someone who knew he had been beaten. Wanting something to do to avoid further embarrassment, Clark picked up the newspaper and began to read the other news stories of the day. Without looking up from his paper, he noted that the two people had concluded their business and left the table. He was halfway through the fourth page when he heard someone clear their throat next to him. He looked up to gaze into the beautiful dark eyes that had embarrassed him not two minutes ago.
“I am so glad that I could entertain you this afternoon. Do you make it a habit of listening in to other people’s conversations?” she asked in French.
Clark was on his feet in a second, looking as apologetic as he could.
“No, really I don’t. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that,” Clark replied in English. “I usually don’t make a habit out of eavesdropping. I guess it was unconscious... kind of a hazard in my profession.”
“And what profession would that be?” The woman had now switched to English when answering Clark.
“I’m a freelance journalist. I guess I kind of always have my radar out for things happening around me. I really am sorry. Can I make it up to you?” He mentally slapped himself in the head. Did he just say ‘can I make it up to you’ to her, like some clumsy pickup artist. He was such an idiot sometimes. Yet, as Clark looked at the woman’s expression, she appeared to be amused by his comment.
“I would be interested in how you think you can ‘make it up’ to me. Also I’m curious just why thought I could speak English? Is it because all Americans think that everyone in the world can speak English?” The woman’s evil smile had returned and she had one eyebrow raised in obvious anticipation of his answers.
“Um... your accent gave you away, so I knew that you were from the ‘States’... probably the east coast. And I just meant that I could buy your lunch. I mean I don’t have to stay, I could just pay for it before I leave. You can have anything you want. I don’t want you to think that ...”
The woman held up her hand to stop him from going any further. She then pulled out a chair and sat down. Clark, at a loss at what to do next, simply stood there, staring at her. “Well, are you going to sit down?” she asked with an amused tone. “I’m hungry, and I expect some intelligent conversation from a world famous freelance reporter.”
Clark back down in his chair, and relaxed a little. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. “Sure I can handle that”. He gave her one of his best Kansas, down home grins.
Clark waved the waiter over to his table and asked for a couple of menus. The waiter returned quickly and took their drink order, leaving them to read over the menu. After making his choice Clark put down his menu, and looked expectedly at his new lunch companion with a smile on his face. He might as well try to start up the conversion. “So I guess this is the part where we tell each other our names and where we are from.”
The woman didn’t even look up from her menu when she replied. “Not necessarily. I may just want to remain some mysterious woman you met in a cafe in France. So years from now when you’re sitting in Suburbia with 2.4 kids and a mini-van, you can think about that woman you knew for only one afternoon.”
Clark pondered her words carefully for a moment before responding. “Nope, I think I vote for the name thing. Besides, I not the suburbia type, and I like jeeps more than mini-vans. So why don’t I start? My name is Clark, Clark Kent. I’m originally from Smallville, Kansas, but I’ve been traveling around the world for the last four years making money as a freelance journalist.”
The woman looked at him suspiciously as she responded. “I thought you were being serious. Where are you really from?”
Clark was perplexed by her response. “What do you mean? You don’t believe that I’m from Kansas?”
“Come on, Smallville? I mean wouldn’t that be redundant anyway? And somehow I don’t think a world-traveling journalist, who, by the way, speaks French like he was born here, is from Kansas. Next you’ll be telling me that you grew up on a farm.” She leaned back in her chair as she finished and crossed her arms, daring him to perpetuate his lie.
“I’m sorry to say that there is actually a Smallville, which, point in fact, was named after the founder of the city, Nathaniel Small. And I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but I did grow up on a farm.”
The woman leaned forward with a incredulous expression. “You’re serious.”
“I am.” Clark was now grinning from ear to ear clearly pleased that he didn’t fit into this woman’s preconceived notion of him.
“So much for being such a good judge of character,” she mused. “Hmmm. You’re quite a contradiction - a farm boy who’s a seasoned world traveler. You’re from Kansas, yet you speak French like you’ve live here all of your life. So can you really write?”
Clark smiled and picked up the newspaper he had laid on the table, and turned it to his article. He placed it in front of her, and leaned back in his chair without saying a word. She reached over, picked it up, and began to read over his article. Every so often she would look up and give him an inquiring raised eyebrow, but then would go back to reading the article. She only paused to give her order to the waiter.
While she was reading the article, Clark took the time to study her. While she wasn’t the most beautiful woman he had ever met, she was certainly real close. She wasn’t dressed provocatively, but the simple summer dress she wore hugged the curves of her body very nicely. Her ponytail, while not as elegant as some hair fashions, drew her hair back, revealing her long, smooth neck. He found that very appealing for some reason. Like her neck was beckoning him to place a ... Okay, he wasn’t going to go there.
But even more, her strength of character was very evident, which to Clark made her even more attractive. This was strange to him, since he never felt the pull of attraction this strong before. The last serious girlfriend he had was Lana, and she was very different from this girl... woman. Lana would have wanted (actually still wants) the home in suburbia with the 2.4 kids. But this woman didn’t strike him as the settling down type. More of the ‘life full of adventure’ type. So is this the type of woman that he is really attracted to? He studied her again trying to decide what he really thought about her. After a few moments thought, he had it.
He was simply entranced, and he only just met her.
‘Only just met.’ He mentally shook himself, thinking that he’d better be careful. This woman could easily just be here to amuse herself for a while and then just take off. Still, he could dream.
“Now I can’t figure you out at all,” she suddenly stated.
Clark: “Huh?” Her sudden statement had broken him out of his reverie, and she had caught him unawares.
“You come across like this innocent little country boy, yet you expose a major arms dealer. A man, I might add, who is very dangerous. And to top it off, you have a terrific writing style. You kept me drawn into the story from start to finish.” She threw the paper back down on the table and crossed her arms. “Now you’ve really pissed me off.”
Clark looked at her apprehensively, trying to decide if she was complimenting him or not. Plus he was trying to figure out why he was ‘pissing her off’.
“Maybe I missed something,” Clark said tentatively. “Are you upset at something I wrote?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “I’m mad that I had you pegged completely wrong on my first impression. I pride myself in being able to quickly read people, now you have totally ruined my confidence for the rest of the day.”
Relieved and amused, Clark answered back, “Oh, I see. Not that I know you all that well, but somehow I think you’ll bounce back quickly. I’m surprised, in fact, that you think your confidence will be ruined for a whole day. I’d say that by the end of lunch, all your self doubts will have worked themselves out.”
“Hmmm. You’re probably right.”
She leaned forward, and placed her arms on the table, and placed her head onto her hands looking right into Clark’s eyes. He was trapped in her gaze and had to shake himself internally again to get his speech centers working once more.
Clark, after he got his focus back, was able to ask, “Well?”
“Well what?” she asked back coyly.
“Your name is ...?”
The woman seemed to debate something in her mind before slowly answering him. “Lena. Lena Warrens.”
“Nice to meet you Lena Warrens. So do you live here, or just visiting for business?”
Lena looked at him suspiciously. “You’re not interviewing me, are you?”
Clark was genuinely taken back by her comment. He just wanted to get to know her better. Of course now he was curious why she would be so paranoid.
“No, I just want to get to know you. So far all I know is that you’re name is Lena, you’re from the U.S., and you’re a shrewd business woman... um, person ...”
“Woman. I believe in advertising the natural superiority of my sex.”
Clark raised his eyebrows in amusement. If he weren’t as shy as he was, he probably would have made a comment about her being a superior woman. But he was already feeling like he was getting in over his head. They definitely didn’t have women like Lena in Kansas. So, instead he chose to respond with, “I see. OK, shrewd business woman. So are you from the East Coast?”
“New York. Manhattan, in fact. My father was an investment broker.”
“Is he retired now.”
“No... well in a way, yes. I lost both of my parents a few years ago in an auto accident, just after I finished college.”
Clark immediately changed his demeanor, and became sympathetic to her lost. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I can’t imagine what that would be like, to lose your parents like that. I don’t know what I do if I didn’t have mine in my life.”
Shrugging she replied, “It’s alright Clark, it was a long time ago. And my parents weren’t exactly the model mother and father. They were more concerned with their status and money.”
“But still, you must miss them.”
Lena once again paused to think of something for a minute. Clark tuned into her heartbeat to see if he was upsetting her any, but was surprised to find that she was very calm, with a slow, steady heart rate. “Yeah, I guess I do. They were my parents, warts and all. So tell me about your parents. Were they the cliche Ma and Pa Kettle type?”
Clark would have been offended by that comment if it were someone else, but he could see that she was simply trying to bait him. “My parents are unique. I don’t think ‘Ma’ ever got over the 60’s and my dad is about the smartest man I ever met. And I’ve met a lot of people in the last 3 years. In fact he could do anything he wanted to, but he just loves farming. They have this mix of the modern and the old fashion in their lives that’s quite unique. I think they would fit in just as well in the West Side of New York, as they do in the farm communities of Kansas. And don’t get me started about my Mom’s artwork. Here, let me show you a picture of them.”
Clark reached behind him, and took out his wallet. Opening it to the picture of his folks, he proudly displayed it to her. It was one of his favorite shots of them, standing on the front porch of their house, the setting sun washing the home in reds and yellows. They were looking at each other, and it was easy to see, even in the small photo, the love they reflected in their eyes. Lena took the wallet from him and studied the picture for a minute. She looked up at Clark, and then back at the picture again.
“I bet they really love you,” she said softly.
“They’re the best parents a boy could hope for.”
Lena looked up at him and asked, “So when did they adopt you?”
The question took Clark completely off guard. How could she have possibly known that?
“How did you know I was adopted?”
“Well either you’re lying and these aren’t your parents, or you’re adopted. They don’t even look like they’re the same race as you, no less share any of your physical characteristics.”
Wow, she was perceptive. If this went beyond lunch, he would have to be very careful around her. He wouldn’t want to reveal his secret too soon. ‘Too soon’? Why had he thought of it in that way? Would he eventually want to reveal his secret to someone? To her? The thought of having someone share his secret... his life, suddenly seemed very appealing. He went from place to place, and job to job so fast that he never let the loneliness sink in for very long. But in the quiet of the nights, he sometimes ached for someone to share his existence. To help him celebrate when thing were good, to hold him when things got bad.
Oh boy... he *was* getting in over his head.
Cautiously Clark said, “They fo... got me when I was a baby. So they are the only parents I’ve ever known. We don’t even know who my real parents were, since I was abandoned as a baby.”
“Interesting. So did they go through the regular channels, or did you just get left on their doorstep?”
Oh boy, he was in trouble already. Then again, being in trouble with her might not be such a bad thing.
“The official story was that a distant cousin of my mom’s left me with them, and the cousin just disappeared and never came back. The real story was that I was just left on their doorstep, and they couldn’t just give me away. You see, my mom couldn’t have children, and they had trouble adopting because of her record with the law, so I was like a gift from above. (“Well that part is true,” he thought to himself.)
“You’re mom is a criminal?” she asked, with an incredulous expression on her face.
“Not really. Let’s just say she didn’t listen to the police very often during protest rallies. Anyway they decided they wanted to keep me, so the got the sheriff and doctor in on it. The sheriff kept his eye out for anybody reporting a missing baby, and the doctor made up a birth certificate for me. And the rest is history.”
“Very interesting. So why did you leave the farm?”
“I know this may seem corny to you, but I just wanted to see the world. And I always loved writing, even since I was little. So after I finished my journalism degree, I hit the road to see what I could see, and write about it.”
Lena studied Clark for a moment, as if deciding something about him. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or worried at the moment. He was definitely attracted to her, but there was something... like she was holding something back. He chuckled at himself. Look who was talking. He was probably carrying around one of the biggest secrets of the century, and here he was worrying that someone might be holding something back.
His thoughts were interrupted when the waiter finally arrived with their food. For the next two hours they enjoyed slowly eating their meal and talking about everything... and nothing. Clark even drew Lena into his people watching game, and was amazed at how accurate most of her guesses were. After their meal, they walked along the shoreline, exchanging bits of information about themselves and their views of life. Clark noted that any details that Lena revealed of her life were just vague enough so that he couldn’t pin her down to anything specific. Was that just a personality trait, or some kind of conscious effort? As they watching the sky turn red with the setting sun, Clark began to feel like when the afternoon ended, she would say her goodbyes, and he would never see her again.
Finally they arrived at the hotel where Lena had said she was staying. Clark knew it was time to say goodbye, but was at a loss to form the correct words. “I guess this is your stop,” he said nervously.
“It is at that.” She then crosses her arms and studies Clark for a moment with an amused expression before continuing. “So are you just going to stand there, or are you coming in?”
“You mean you want me to um... you know, to ...”
Lena now laughed with amusement at her escort’s nervousness. “Come on Kansas, unless you’re total bored with me by now, you can come and sit in my room while I change. Then we can hit some of the better night spots I know in the city.” She immediately spun around and headed into the hotel. Clark blinked, finally gathered his wits, and ran to catch up with her. After a silent elevator ride to her floor, Clark followed her to her room. Opening the door for them, she led him into one of the most lavish hotel rooms he had ever seen in his life. He couldn’t imagine actually being able to afford a room like this himself. Lena must be a very successful business woman.
“Guess they don’t have rooms like this in Tinysville,” she stated with an air of superiority.
“*Smallville*,” Clark replied with mock indignation.
Lena, with a slight wave of her hand, replied, “Whatever. Make yourself comfortable, while I go change in the other room. Oh, before I change one thing I was curious about.”
“What’s that?” he asked innocently.
Before Clark could react, she shoved him up against the wall, reached up, and captured his lips with her own. Clark felt like he was drowning, and his mind caught in a haze. It was like she was taking possession of him, but he was willingly surrendering to it. When she finally released him, he felt bereft at the lost of the contact.
Lena now had a sly, almost feral expression. “Just wanted to make sure you were really attracted to me. As a rule, I hate to waste my time with anything.”
It took Clark a moment to compose himself for a response. He was not used to anything, or anyone, being able to affect him like this. In fact he often wondered if his invulnerability made him immune to intimate contact with a woman. After that kiss, he knew now that certainly wasn’t true. Looking seriously into her eyes he replied to her. “I would never want to waste time with you.”
Before Lena could react, Clark placed his hand behind her head, and lowering his lips to hers, and kissing her with an abandon he had never dared before. He explored the softness of her mouth, letting his tongue tease the outline of her lips without demanding entrance. When he finished, he leaned back to look at her again, and could see that now she was the one a little flustered at their exchange. It took her a moment to regain her composure.
“Hmmm. Very nice country boy. You don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”
She whirled around and walked... no, sauntered off into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Clark was now definitely sure that he was in over his head. Good thing he was invulnerable. Turning his attention to the suite’s living room, he found the TV, sat down, and started to channel surf. Finding nothing interesting after a couple of minutes (‘Leave it to Beaver’ in French just didn’t do it for him), he turned it back off. With nothing else to distract him, he spent the next several minutes reliving the kisses they had given each other. He was trying to sort out how much of it was emotional, and how much of it was hormonal. He didn’t want to be with her for only because of the sexual attraction he felt toward her.
His thoughts were cut short when he heard her enter the room. His breath caught in his throat as he cast his gaze on her. She was now wearing a simple, but elegant black dress, that showed off her figure very well. The dress was cut very low in the front, which Clark thought would make it hard not to stare at that area from time to time. The dress was held up by two thin spaghetti straps, one of which seem to make a habit of slipping off her shoulder. The left side of the dress was slit more than half way up her thigh. For the first time in his life, Clark felt the urge to give in to pure sexual desire. With a supreme effort, he was able to get his voice back long enough to comment on her attire.
“Wow.”
“I’m glad you approve. Come on, well go back to your place so you can change, then I’ll show you the side of the city that tourist never get to see.”
Clark looked a little embarrassed as he answered. “This is, kind of, the best clothes I’ve got.”
Without missing a beat, she came back with, “Well then, we better go shopping and get you properly attired for the evening I have planned.”
Now Clark was clearly embarrassed. “I’m not sure I can afford much on my budget, at least until the check from the wire service clears.”
Lena seemed amused at his embarrassment.
Lena: “Don’t worry about it Kansas, I’m going to fund the necessary transformation you’ll need to be suitable for tonight. And don’t give me any of that macho ‘I can pay for myself’ crap. I looking forward to a spectacular evening with a gorgeous man, and you’re elected. I’m not going to let the cost for a few clothes get in my way. Besides, I just made more money in a day then you’re going to make in the next few years. So what will it be?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned around and walked over to the hall closet to retrieve her evening wrap.
Clark thought about it for a moment, then beamed at her with a wide grin. “I’m all yours.”
At his comment, Lena looked at him over her shoulder and gave him the most predatory look Clark had ever seen in his life. Clark actually thought that he felt his heart stop for a moment. She then slipped the wrap on, and led Clark out to their first destination.
For the next two hours Lena took (dragged) Clark through a range of upper scale clothing stores, evaluating a variety of outfits for him to wear. Before meeting Lena, Clark had never experienced anything like this afternoon, and he vacillated between enjoying all the attention, and feeling guilty about spending so much of her money. At the end of the shopping spree, Clark was decked out in a pair of fashionable light colored knit pants, with a black, long sleeve button shirt. Lena had rolled the sleeves half way up for him, saying he should show off more of his arms. She finished off the outfit for him with a new pair of shoes, and a black leather coat. Standing in the store with his new outfit complete, Lena declared him ready for an evening of fun and adventure with her as his guide.
Clark had spent the last 14 years of his life dealing with his blossoming abilities, and the last 7 years getting the hang of flying under his own power. He even had flown close enough to a tornado to feel it almost suck him into its vortex. But none of that compared to the whirlwind that was Lena. He never felt himself so out of control as at this moment. He still hadn’t decided if it was terrifying, or the best thing that had ever happen to him. Three hours into his evening with Lena he was starting to lean toward the latter.
-- End Part 1 --
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