Dafyd looked down and saw his well-worn brown shoes dangling above the storm clouds. Feeling a rush of vertigo hit him, he closed his eyes. He focused on the strong arms around him and the breasts pressing into his face as they descended through the damp. Landing as the first crack of thunder tore across the sky made the landfall more dramatic than it was. All in all, it wasn’t how Dafyd imagined he’d end his 40th birthday.
His track record suggested the end would come today – shot in the head in the bank waiting to cash his birthday cheque from him mother, who believed Satan himself controlled the electronic banking and clung for dear-life to her cheque-book. The end would come when he embarrassed his wife for the last time, showing off his low-command of French, mortifying the waitress and finding a steak knife protruding from his chest. The end would come choking on a piece of birthday cake at his surprise birthday party, discovering too late he had recently developed a nut allergy. Or at the hands of a mugger down a dark alley way after he’d stop to ask for direction when his NavMan failed.
As the crack-head had shoved the gun in his face, Dafy closed his eyes and surrendered. After all – every birthday he could remember had been a disaster. To die on on his 40th seemed a fitting end.
But he’d been he’d been plucked from danger by this gorgeous she-hero, clad from head to toe-in red. It was his 15 year old self’s fantasty.
She had her back to him, standing on the edge of the building, looking, what Dafyd assumed, was pensively over the sinful city. Or perhaps protectively. It was hard to tell since she had her back to him and Dayfd’s eyes were glued to her round, luscious backside straining against the vinyl beneath the ruffle of the short skirt. The gentle curve of her hips, long legs… Dafyd licked his dry lips.
“Thank you,” he said, though the words caught in his throat as he struggled to coordinate his breathing. Adrenalin and desire crash tackling each other. One minute about to die and the next minute about to get everything he’d ever wanted.
She nodded but didn’t turn around.
Dafyd got it – she took her job as guardian of the city seriously. But first, she’d turn and they’d lock in a passionate kiss before she swan-dived from the roof top, flying out into the fractured night to save the next hapless soul from an untimely ending.
Lightning opened a schism in the sky, followed by shattering thunder. Dafyd remembered his English teaching talking about Skakespearean weather and knew something profound was about to happen.
She turned and Dafyd closed his eyes, waiting for her lips to caress his.
“You don’t want to do that dude,” a voice said, and for a moment Dafyd thought it was his conscience warning him against breaking his marriage vows. Hell – just one kiss. What harm could one kiss do after you’d cheated death, again? “Seriously dude, you don’t want to do that.”
Dafyd opened one eye and then the other to find the she-hero with her hands on her hips. Dafyd devoured her from her ethereal face, down her graceful neck, strong shoulders, sensible breasts, hard stomach ending in a bulge.
Dafyd stumbled backwards away from her.
“You’re a bloke.”
“And you’re alive dude – so we’ll call it quits.”
“What the hell…” Dafyd wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His stomach felt as though he’d eaten a reheated kebab that had already given him food poisoning once. “You’re a bloke.”
“You’ve got a good grasp of the obvious, Dafyd.”
“How do you know my name.”
“I read minds.”
“You just stay the fuck away from me.” Dafyd turned to run off but stopped. He couldn’t help himself.“Why the hell would you want to dress up as a woman and save people? You got some drag queen fetish?”
The she-hero pulled off the latex mask, a handsome chiseled face, shadowed with a heavy stubble illuminated as lightning flashed above.
“Even this isn’t enough to cut it in the superhero stakes these days.” He dropped the mask to his feet. “I fly. I read minds, I’m hot – but you know what… you gotta be a vampire, a vampire,” the words were spat out his mouth. “If you want to make it in the hero games these days. Female super heroes on the other hand… there’s plenty of openings. Dude, I got desperate. You understand… dude?”
Dayfd ran for the stairs, coming to the conclusion as he hurtled through the barely lit stairwell, the mugger should have just shot him or if he was lucky before he got to the bottom he’d trip and break his neck.
You can also listen to “She-Hero” on audioBoo.
This story was booted out onto the page compliments of the [Fiction] Friday prompt: #162: “Write about a man with an impossibly bad streak of luck on his birthdays, who, as his 40th birthday approaches, is scared of what might happen.”
You’re going for that young, hip transvestite hyper-human demographic again. I thought we’d agreed that was a dead, populist genre you were going to try and wean yourself off of …
This is an absolute winner! Loved the inversion and the awkwardness of the ensuing conversation. More though, I loved the rationalisation of the she-hero. Had a great laugh at this one.
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How awkward! We’ve all seen what we thought was the most beautiful thing in the world from the rear only to find out it’s a bloke when they turn around. I like how the superhero is dealing with the fact that he’s not a part of pop culture and no one really cares that he’s a superhero.
Loved the story, Jodi. “…you gotta be a vampire.” Very true. The superhero market it tough these days.
I loved this, Jodi – humor at every turn and very nice ending as well – “…or if he was lucky before he got to the bottom he’d trip and break his neck.” 😀
*am choking back laughs* ( no damn it..hang on .. need to breathe… laughing so hard)
“a vampire….” YEEEEAP……what a winner…
must get on to Audio Boo and listen to you reading this.
brilliant take on the prompt.
visitors can see mine at http://annieevett.blogspot.com/2010/07/essence.html
“Adrenaline and desire crash tackling each other” Great description. Hilarious. Love the bit about Shakespearean weather.
Wow. I must say that I enjoyed every line of it. I love the pendulum swing of emotions: fear/death – ultimate desire – crushing realization/repulsion.
So I’m wondering just how many Welshmen you actually know?
Rationale behind this question: you create a character called Dafyd with a thing for beauties clad in red. Therefore, he must Welsh. That makes my fantasy kick in. I’ve made it, I’ve actually become the hero in a story by one of my favourite writer’s. Then I read he can’t speak French, so I’m wondering how many… yes, well I’ve written that already. Despite my tremendous disappointment, I really did enjoy reading this.