Date: Wed, 3 Mar 2010 00:30:29 -0800 (PST) From: Thoby Andover <thobyandover@y7mail.com> Subject: Costumed Superheroes part 3 Copyright 2010 by the author thobyandover@y7mail.com The story contains explicit sex. ***** Again, the discerning reader will join the Costumed Superheroes in their adventures, but first, make careful study of the cover of the shiny comic-book. What new device have the crafty publishers employed now, to distract their audience? SPECIAL FREE OFFER! Write in to receive your SPECIAL FREE pictorial full-gloss DEPICTION of TITAN MAN and TEEN RANGER!!! Now you can PRINT OUT the powerhouse-pair! Put them on your bedroom wall and have a wank! This high-quality portrait of the terrifying twosome is rendered by artist HE THONG and comes in FULL COLOUR!!! So there. Just send in to thobyandover@y7mail.com and await the arrival of your free picture, apparently. One wonders how quickly the publishers will run out, for demand is sure to be high. Meanwhile inside the pages, the superheroes might be doing something. Read on! ***** ***COSTUMED SUPERHEROES!!! #3*** "Hey! That's pretty good!" TEEN RANGER exclaimed as he shifted around in the passenger seat of the T-Mobile. "It's got a real ring to it!" "Well, that's what the former PROFESSOR POWER is now to be known as," TITAN MAN said, yanking hard on the gear-lever of the Volkswagen Karmann Ghia. "We went through some other options first. There was TRANSCENDING TUTOR, NIGHT-CLASS, LIMITLESS LECTURER..." "It's pretty much the bomb!" the young Ranger said. "The DON of DOOM! Hardcore! No one will mess with the intellectual property of... The DON of DOOM!!!" The T-Mobile was a sliding grey menace, crawling along Bent Street, Sheertown – one of the seediest areas of Century City's most debauched district. The Powerhouse crime-fighting pair approached their stakeout assignment. "If we can find number ninety-five, that's the squalid doss-house we're to keep watch over, in case CAPTAIN VON HECKLE and his criminal cohorts are using it as a crime-den. Keep a sharp lookout, Teen Ranger!" "Eighty-one... Eighty-three... Eighty-five..." counted the sharp-eyed sidekick, his pupils narrowing with stern concentration through his little black stick-on eye-mask. "Eighty-seven... Hey!... That one's missing its number! It *must* be Eighty-nine!" "Nice detective work, Teen Ranger!" "Ninety-one... We must be getting close! Hey! There's a parking spot!" Together, the heroic duo worked efficiently as a well-oiled team. The super-fast reflexes of the mighty Titan sprung into action! He jerked the steering-wheel and the grey Volkswagen smoked to a halt with its passenger door adjacent the bumper of the car already parked in front – instantly and perfectly positioned for a reverse-maneuver to the kerb. The gearbox was thrust into its backwards-going gear by a giant, gauntleted fist and the tires squeaked and the engine revved. "...Bit further... Bit further... You've still got room," The Teen Ranger relayed to the spandex-costumed pilot of the T-MOBILE! "*Stop!*" With a lurch, the vehicle had been expertly drawn up to the gutter, hardly touching the Range-Rover at its rear. With a pop and a rattle and a blast of fire from its tailpipe, the trusty T-Mobile cut its distinctive, four-cylinder hum, and for a moment, the Titanic-Two breathed sighs of relief. "Well done, my young Ranger! We've got a parking spot!" The doors clunked and the chassis flexed as the colossal TITAN MAN and the not-diminutive TEEN RANGER laid leather boot and purple basketball-shoe upon the hard, asphalt surface of the Century City street. "Now to feed the meter, my teen-aged assistant. Quick! Are you carrying any quarters?" "Me, T-Man? Since when have I had pockets?" "Hmm," the massive marauder uttered with a black gauntlet to his forceful chin. "I think there might be some change in the ash-tray." The super-heroic twosome performed the necessary exploits to make the meter go `click, click, click,' and their berth was assured for two-and-a-half-hours. "Everything's been smooth-going so far, Teen Ranger! That's good! Now for the next part of our mission!" "Nocturnal Intruder said number ninety-five was a known hideout for crooks and villains!" the plucky Teen Ranger helpfully explained. "That's right, Ranger. We need to find a place from which we can inconspicuously observe the establishment. Who comes... Who goes... and so on. Aha! That coffee-shop across the road! Ideal!" "How about that bar, Titan Man?" Teen Ranger said, indicating with a white latex gauntlet a certain dingy concern. "Hmm. I'm not sure that..." "But Titan Man, our superhero costumes will blend in with the neon sign!" And indeed, above the dim saloon there hung a decrepit electric-neon sign of blue and red, proclaiming; `Hump Bar,' in buzzing, weakly flashing letters. "Well, I suppose we can take a stool by the window..." agreed T-Man. "Just remember," said Titan Man as the two superheroes entered the gloomy premises in their tight costumes of blue spandex and electric-purple and white lycra, their capes billowing behind them. "Try to blend in." A few trucker ball-caps lifted momentarily as already-ensconced patrons moved to make a lazy inspection of the newcomers. TITAN MAN and TEEN RANGER seated themselves at a dusty, uneven table near the window. "I want a `Fuck-Thruster Special!" announced Teen Ranger. "What?" "It's on the cocktail menu." The speedy Ranger had already grasped the water-proof, laminated menu from the table with a latex-gloved hand and was waving it around in a manner of some excitement. "Let me see that!" said the Titan as he grabbed it. Hard, grey eyes narrowed to a cold glint through rectangular reticules in a rubber hood as TITAN MAN made a thorough survey of the plastic sheet. "Well hurry up! What do you want? Try a `Fisting Fuckmaster.' It's under the `Hump's Fucking Specialties' section." Teen Ranger said. "Teen Ranger, lightning-quick decision-making must be balanced with careful consideration. I'm *trying* to figure out whether any of these menu items might contain alcohol. See! It just goes to show; you've got to know when to move fast and when to make vigilant enquiries!" The gigantic superhero in blue spandex and black, velvet cape sauntered to the bar in a discreet manner. The young sidekick in purple and white followed, eyeing the attractively arrayed bottles on the shelves behind the waiting bartender. In the gloom, the ears of the other clientele visibly pricked, interested in the conversation which might occur between the colourfully-costumed superheroes and the rough barkeep with a moustache. "My good fellow," began the T-Man. "Perhaps you would be so good as to serve us two of your less noxious cocktails. A couple of these `Mind-Fucker Milks..." "*Pssssst!* Titan Man," Teen Ranger hissed through the side of his mouth. "You said to blend in! Get two Coors! That's what everyone else is drinking!" "But Teen Ranger, we're on duty! Surely I've spoken to you enough about occupational health and safety and the imperative to be alert on the job!" "Now look here," the barman said in a rough, impatient voice. "Are you two some of those Costumed Superheroes I've heard about? Or are you a couple of corn-snaggling jokers?" "...Ah... We'll have two Coors," Titan Man said. "Two Coors *lights* if you please." "I'll need ID from the kid." There was a moment of perplexity, but Teen Ranger, ever bright and on-the ball, hooked a thumb into his Speedo front-packet and withdrew a shiny new drivers' licence. Before the tautly stringed waistband snapped back to the lower pelvic area, several trucker-hats which were aligned along the opposing bar-bench craned sideways as one. Stirred slightly from their inebriation, bloodshot eyes were widened and rough lips were licked. "Ahem," said Titan Man as his loyal sidekick proudly showed his recently-gotten licence. Two brightly costumed superheroes, each clutching a tall, ice-cold beverage, made their way back to their table by the window. "Cheers, Titan Man!" "Easy does it, boy. We've got a job to do, remember." "It's thirsty work, this staking out!" Teen Ranger raised his bottle and glugged down several hearty mouthfuls. "Hey, Titan Man," the sidekick said, wiping his lips with white latex. "Now's a good chance to talk about something. I still haven't been fitted with Professor Power's... I mean the Don of Doom's miniature GPS device. When's that going to happen? When am I going to be pierced? Because Professor Power... I mean the Don of Doom said that we sidekicks should be pierced somewhere on our lithe, sexy bodies, I think he said, and everyone in this bar is looking at us and that guy over there is checking me out for sure. Because of my smooth, rippling muscles and my tight costume and he's hairy and I can see he's got a big cock and maybe you should rub baby-oil all over me each time before we go out on patrol so I'm all shiny and yow!... I think my Speedo's too tight so where's my piercing going to be? Don't you think it's hot in here?" "I think, my young Teen Ranger, that the obvious place for the Don's miniature GPS device is through your nipple. But that'll hurt, mind!" "Blah! My nipple? Kid Buck's getting his through his cock! That's where I want mine! I want a cock-piercing! Hey, Titan Man, can I have Professor Power's GPS pierced in my cock? Huh?" "Well, I'm not so sure about that..." "But Titan Man. If I'm captured, the crooks will never look at my cock. They *might* look at my nipple..." "Ranger, the correct term for that apparatus is `penis.' I wish you would use the proper lexicon." "So when am I going to get my wang pierced?" ***** As Teen Ranger makes certain enthusiastic adjustments to his garment, this may be an opportune time to leave our law-enforcing duo to their stakeout and their various discussions. Let us now proceed to Central Century Park – that vast reserve of nature – where two other superheroes are conducting a stakeout of a somewhat different kind. Read on! ***** An orange Ford F100 pickup was parked in a secluded bay on the edge of Central Century Park. All was quiet apart from the occasional screech of some form of wildlife wheeling in the air. Several paths led into nearby bushland where low branches and dense greenery offered a certain kind of enticement. "This area is known for illegal activities conducted in the outdoors," said THE WRANGLER to his strapping sidekick. The Wrangler's patterned cowboy boots trudged along the rocky path. Keys jangled and a coiled horsewhip trailed from his belt. At the front of the beefy torso, a belt-buckle the size of a small TV screen glinted in silver, bearing the ranch-themed superhero's entire nomenclature; `The WRANGLER,' – in a curly western style, surrounded by decorative ringlets, whorls, and imprints of rearing stallions. "NOCTURNAL INTRUDER thought it best that we take this al fresco assignment, with our denim and leather. The thick branches and undergrowth are likely to snag on the lycra and spandex worn by the other superheroes." "That's NOCTURNAL INTRUDER," said the sober BOY RYDER. "Always *thinking*." They made an impressive pair as they carefully made their way, using their country-acquired tracking skills. THE WRANGLER's massive shoulders and hairy forearms were tanned a deep brown. The leather vest, open at the front, exposed more hair on an immense chest. Beside him, BOY RYDER wore the complimentary and characteristically more concise outfit of the sidekick. Short cut-off jeans hugged a strong, smartly trimmed butt halfway up the cheeks, and a prominent frontward bulge. Boy Ryder's ankle-boots were suede leather and his own small vest was fitted tightly against his smooth, golden skin. He wore his name around his neck – on a chromium plate riveted to a black collar. "Not sure that VON HECKLE would choose *this* place for a crime-conference," said The Wrangler. "Although I've a strange sense that *something* illicit is going on around here!" "Me too," Boy Ryder said, sniffing the air with an upturned nose. "I can *smell* it! It smells like... Vaseline!" Dark, almond-shaped Asiatic eyes widened in surprise. "Why! I think it's coming from *this* direction! Let's go, Wrangler! Let's swing into action!" "Just a mo-mo my tight-butted young friend!" The Wrangler's fist grabbed the arm of his eager sidekick. "Do you hear that?" They listened, and from deep within the scrubby forest there came a faint, mysterious sound! "I can hear... twigs crackling," said Boy Ryder. "And... it sounds like grunting and panting, and someone saying `Oh God! Give it to me harder,'... What kind of doggone misdeed can this *be*?" "We've no time to invent a double-entendre, Boy. It's time to employ the `bait-and-switch' ruse!" "Oh! That's I *great* idea, Wrangler!" "Go back to the truck and get the ropes! And hurry your purty little backside back here!" ***** THE WRANGLER has sent BOY RYDER on an errand! But what of this so-called `bait-and-switch' ploy? How does it work! The reader will be yearning to know! It is, in fact, a specialty of this cowboy-themed pair of superheroes! To learn more, read on! ***** Cody Swingcock and Matthew Crack were college jocks. Cody was on the CCU football team and Matthew was on the swim team. One day both college jocks decided to have a picnic in Central Century Park, but first, a little about themselves. Matthew was 5'11" and had a smooth, swimmer's body, sandy hair, and a 9" cock. Cody was 6'1", heavier, broad-shouldered and had a down of blonde hair on his legs. Cody's cock was 8". Cody and Matthew were considered attractive and liked to keep in shape. Both college jocks were straight, but were privately bi-curious. "Hey, Cody," Matthew said. "What do you think of Coach Evans' bod? He's so hot! With a hairy chest and massive pecs and nipples the size of quarters! Not that I'm gay or anything." "I'm not gay either," Cody replied. "But that Coach Evans is one hot dude! I'd like him to have his cock in my ass, that's for sure! Wait! No I wouldn't." "Yep," said Matthew. "If I was gay, which I'm not, Coach Evans could pound my ass `till I sang the theme-tune to `Little House on the Prairie'!" Both boys had engaged in the usual locker-room activity, flicking towels and horsing around. They had often been in the locker-room together naked, and Matthew had looked at Cody's 8" cock and Cody had looked at Matthew's 9" cock. "Now, where is that picnic spot you were talking to me about?" said Cody. "It's here. Through these bushes and down this trail," said Matthew. "Sure is an out of the way place," said Cody. "Yeah. They say gay guys come here to thrust their hard, throbbing cocks into each other's waiting asses," said Matthew. "Whew! Just think! I could thrust my hard, 8" throbbing pole into your waiting ass behind one of these bushes – if we were gay!" said Cody. "But I'm the one with the 8" throbbingly stiff meat-pole. You've got the 9" cock!" said Matthew. "But I'm Cody!" said Cody. "And Cody's the one with the 8" cock!" "You're the swimmer, right? I'm Matthew, the one with the 8" cock and with a blonde down of hair on my legs." "What are we doing here, anyway? I'm sure we are supposed to be somewhere else flicking towels at each other, naked in a locker-room, and driving our pulsating cock-shafts into our waiting asses... Hey! What's that?" Both college jocks paused and looked down the bush trail. "It's a hot young guy in really tight cut-off jeans. And he's been hog-tied with ropes! He's lying face-down on the path with his wrists and ankles tied behind him with the ropes!" "I wish Coach Evans would do that to me!" said Cody. "I get hot just thinking about it! One day he'll call me into his office after practice while I'm just wearing my jockstrap and say `I've been through your locker and found *this*!' and he'll allow my plastic vibrating dildo to drop to the table and then he'll say `you'd better do exactly as I say!'" "That sounds a bit too gay for me. But right now, let's approach this hot guy who's tied up and slowly slide our hands over that half-bared ass, with its hard buttocks, and watch the tied-up hot guy squirm and struggle, and I forgot to say that he has a sock shoved in his mouth, and maybe I can reach under him and feel his stiff cock through his cut-off jeans. Just thinking about it gives me a hard-on!" "Who said all that? Me or you?" asked Matthew. The college-jocks drew nearer, and although he wasn't gay, one of them had just happened to bring an ezy-size bottle of personal lubricant to his picnic in the park bushes. Soon, Boy Ryder felt the wet hands sliding on his bare skin. Oily fingers glided across a backside subtly ridged with muscle, under his cut-offs, and into his humid cleft. He wiggled and `mmfed' upon the dry sock stuck in his mouth. The bait-and-switch plan was working! "He's a hot Asian guy!" said Cody. "I'd really go for him if I was into Asian guys. And I was gay. No. I mean if I was gay *and* into hot Asian guys! Well I am into hot Asian guys but I'm not gay." "Check out his hot butt!" said the other one. "Imagine finding a young hot guy tied-up in the bushes wearing tight, cut-off jeans and feeling his hot butt and reaching in and fingering his tight hole with our bottle of personal lubricant – and we're not even gay!" "I'm going to tip him over and unzip his jeans and feel his cock, which will be hard, and I'm going to slowly stroke it and watch the anguished expression on his face as he agonisingly approaches orgasm!" "And I'm going to pinch his nipples and see him wince with a mixture of pain and pleasure!" "Well, what are you doing?" "I'm tipping him over to feel his cock!" "That was me who was going to do that!" "You were going to pinch his nipples!" "No, that was you!" Suddenly, a tremendous intrusion occurred. With a snap and a loud thump, THE WRANGLER appeared in the bush pathway as if from nowhere, boots widespread, gigantic arms folded, and a menacing expression on his face. "STAND FAST!!! THIS IS A COSTUMED SUPERHERO APPREHENSION!!!" "Holy Shit!" said one college jock. "What'll we do now?" "Take all our clothes off," said the other. "That guy's hot! Look at his hot bod,' with that massive hairy chest and those nipples the size of quarters. I'd totally get an erection thinking about him and Coach Evans getting it on with a can of Crisco in the locker-room! Even though I'm not gay." ***** Dear reader, perhaps these two college-jocks have strayed from their normal environs and bewildered our superheroes to some extent. And perhaps it may suffice to relate that the college-jocks were sent on their sheepish way, back to their steamy locker room where they may consider their waiting asses and where their respective cocks may be placed. Now, the remaining participants of the `bait-and-switch' routine are left to their own devices. ***** Boy Ryder strained and tensed his legs and rump, lying stomach-down in the dust. The dry sock in his mouth propped open his jaw as he turned his head to one side. He still felt the dribbling lubricant of the college-jocks, smeared under his short cut-offs. Against the hard ground, his organ throbbed hurtfully through his jeans. Why had The Wrangler appeared so soon in the practiced `bait-and-switch' maneuver? Why hadn't the bait been allowed more time to execute his alluring duties? Two creatures known as `college jocks' had voiced their intent to explore the bait more fully, before being inexplicably dispersed and sent back to their `Coach Evans!' Wordlessly, The Wrangler reached down and grasped the knotted ropes which held the ankles and wrists at the small of Boy Ryder's back. He was lifted like a sack and carried, suspended and bouncing, back to the orange Ford F100. The rocks and dirt of the path passed inches before his face, and then he was thrown face-down into the tray with a heavy thump. The Wrangler seemed to find every pothole in the streets of Century City and with every bump, the bound Boy Ryder was reminded of the hardness in his nether regions, pressed under him against the metal. ***** And so the experiment carried out by THE WRANGLER and BOY RYDER has reached its unsatisfying conclusion. As the hog-tied Boy Ryder slides about in the exposed tray of the F100 and as The Wrangler applies the brakes sharply at every traffic-light, we return to our latex, lycra, and nylon-clad superheroes studiously conducting their stakeout from the Hump Bar. Read on! ***** TEEN RANGER adjusted his Speedo. The rough-looking trucker type had continued to check him out from beneath the peak of the ball-cap. Then, with a meaningful glance, the trucker had retired to the men's room. "Titan Man, I need to go to the bathroom." The Titan in blue spandex raised an eyebrow above the neck of his beer-bottle in acknowledgement. Through the swing-door and past the beaten-up old `Autobeam' hand-dryer bolted to the wall, Teen Ranger made for the heritage-listed porcelain urinal. He really needed to pee! Following natural protocol, the boy-superhero didn't look about as he mounted the step and unfolded his pressured meat-schlong from his Speedo. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! A fine mist rebounded from the white porcelain where the hard-hitting jet made contact. Some of it was going on his bright new purple basketball sneakers but... Heavy-set men in ball-caps were behind him, beside him. "Hey, superhero-boy! You a cocksucker?" "No!" "You are today!" They dragged him across the dirty tiles into a cubicle. The basketball high-tops scrabbled and squeaked. He struggled. His cape was grasped and wrapped about a big, strong hand, and another hand was sliding between his tussling buttocks, testing the tautness of his Speedo and rudely finding his hole with a hairy finger. "*Oh*!" The cubicle door banged and there was thumping and oofing. The scuffling Ranger found himself face-down, holding himself up from the filthy floor and grasping the toiled bowl for purchase. "Hold still yer liddle super-fag!" "Just wait `till I get my hands on you thugs!" announced the brave super-Teen, twisting his head and kicking his feet. One of his ugly assailants had gotten around in front and now sat on the toilet seat. Jeans were unzipped and a rancid, pink baton of meat sprang upwards, waving in Teen Ranger's face. Behind him, his legs were parted and tightly-held, and a pair of purple high-top basketball shoes struck out with renewed vigour from the cubicle opening. "Fuck! The little jumping-bean's got strong legs! Maybe you really *are* a superhero! Quit struggling! You little super-spunk!" The wrestling Teen Ranger felt his meagre Speedo wrenched from about his waist and over his quick-moving rump. In front and behind, urgent needs were being assessed. "Look at the tight little ass on this super-hero-fucker, will yer? Hold him tight!" "Why you toilet-room toughs!!! Just wait `till Titan Man gets you!!!" "Stop yer big mouth squeakin' boy, and get it wrapped around this!" A swollen head of meat pushed against the Rangers lips. He parted his teeth and took it. In an instant, it had thrust to its base and filled his throat. "That'll shut yer trap yer liddle punk! Aw... yeah... That's it boy... suck on it good... yeah... suck it down... yer a super-sucker!!!" A rigid intrusion forced a part between smooth, rock-tight buttocks. There was thrashing and fighting still, but ankles were firmly held, widely. The white soles of the basketball high-tops moved and jerked in silence. "Mmf... Mmmf...Mmf...Mmf... Mmmf..." said Teen Ranger, sucking hard – and "*Mmmmmmmmmmmffff!!!*" he went as he felt the first drive from behind. The solid pole of meat withdrew partially and charged again. "*Mmmmmmmmmmmffff!!!*" "Holy fuck!!! But that's tight!!! Nice goin' super-hero!!! Yer performin' a real public fuckin' service!!!" The swing-door of the cubicle clanked occasionally. The trucker's grunted quietly, and the Teen Ranger made whatever sounds he could with his lips so stretched and his mouth stuffed. There was the stifled movement of hard-tensed muscle and rustling nylon, and every few seconds he kicked anew against the hairy brawn which held him. The squelching, pumping organs which filled him frontwards and rearwards gushed and spurted, and white jelly dripped to the floor. "Ahhhhhhhhh!!!" groaned a Trucker, his dribbling organ withdrawn. "Get yer cock in here, Jethro! It's tight as a nun's nasty!" "Whadder yer say, super-boy? Want more cock in those sweet lips `er your's?" Teen Ranger spat white chunks. "Just let me get my knee up here a bit. Move over. There. Now just lift me up a bit, there..." TITAN MAN, the masked, spandex-costumed terror-of-transgressors, placed his Coors on the table. Now, where could his easily-distracted sidekick have gotten to? He turned around on his stool and received something of a surprise! Teen Ranger wobbled toward him. The young subordinate was snappily adjusting his twisted Speedo. One electric-purple sock was up and the other down, scrunched around his ankle, and his shoelaces trailed along the floor of the bar. "Teen Ranger? What's that stuff in your hair?" "Hm? My hair? Oh." The terrific-Teen raised a hand to his messed, crusty black trim. "I think I got some soap in it from the soap-dispenser. When it squirted out." There was a somewhat glazed, languid look in the eyes of the rampaging-Ranger. His little black mask was askew and his purple tunic was ruffled, its white lightning-flashes going every which-way. "Erm, you'd better adjust your Speedo again," Titan Man said. "It's twisted all around and..." Puzzled, Teen Ranger looked down to his swelling bulge and cupped a hand. "Well don't *rub* it!" said Titan Man. "Looks like I've got a boner again," said the observant Ranger. ***** Dear reader, a `boner' is one of the few terrible fears with which the costume-attired super-sidekick lives. Why does the crime-fighting superhero outfit his apprentice so insufficiently? This we may never know. But let it suffice to say that this is entirely within the dominion of a tradition which originates in the very early 1940s – a more innocent time when hot-pants and bikinis on young superheroes were seen as nothing untoward. Nowadays, in the seedy Hump Bar, a tight, colourful Speedo attracts the attentions of certain `truckers,' as we have seen. Now read on! ***** "Well, there was no sign of Von Heckle or any of his crime-crew at Bent Street today," Titan Man said as the T-Mobile grinded into fourth gear on the Parkway. "Who?" "Captain Von Heckle! The criminal mastermind!" "Oh yeah." Teen Ranger shifted uneasily in the leather seat of the Volkswagen Karmann Ghia. "I think you're being diverted from the job at hand, boy, by something which needs taking care of!" Titan Man reached with a mighty gloved fist – not for the gear-lever – but for another lever, one which had sprung upwards in the passenger seat from its warm nest of sheer, purple nylon. It arched backwards into a fluttering navel, straining and palpitating. The disconcerted Teen Ranger whimpered as his tensely vibrating meat was kneaded slowly by the leather gauntlet. "*Oh, golly*!" he whispered as his tunic was quickly splattered with an uncontrolled eruption. ***** So, it would appear that the Teen Ranger has once again been relieved of a burden. Whoever would have thought that the duties of the costumed superhero extended to these domestic obligations – of calming his tender sidekick's nerves in such a way? As we leave the dexterous TITAN MAN and the hiccupping TEEN RANGER to their mutual machinations in the front-seat of the T-Mobile, it may be an opportune time to visit NOCTURNAL INTRUDER and KID BUCK and see what they are up to. Again, a surprise! They are just getting out of bed! ***** A shaving-nick on the face of the NOCTURNAL INTRUDER would be an unbecoming thing, so he was careful with the razor. His square, notched jaw swiveled left and right in the mirror. Above, a smoothly bared skull shone, ready for the rubber hood. The Intruder and Kid Buck had been staking-out a particular crime-den all throughout the previous night, on the watch for Von Heckle. Nothing. In the bedroom, the faithful offsider lay fitfully, still dreaming the blissful and hectic dreams of youth. He was the wrong way around, his head and one arm hanging limply over the foot of the bed, the sheets wrapped around a confusing tangle of limbs. From the soft, drooling mouth came the faintest of wheezing sighs, repeated over and over. Even after having hit the sack at five AM, neither of them had had much slumber. The Kid had been as agitated as ever, that slender, warm body wriggling – and straining – and *pressing* in the bedclothes. Even half asleep, the boy surged with a barely controlled need, and the three narrow stripes across his backside still caused an occasional surprised yelp and a jerk when they skated across the mattress. Wherever the Intruder had turned during the night, he had eventually felt a rock-hard presence pushing up against him somewhere – in the small of his back – against his leg – or grinding hopefully into his groin. A pair of dry, sensual lips continually reached and pouted, seeking to exchange hot, ragged breaths with the massive Nocturnal one. When they kissed, that mouth went softer still, passive yet insistent, delicately whimpering. Nocturnal Intruder's phone rang, and he fished it from one of the leather pouches on his harness. "Yes?" "What?" "Where?" "MacBeachBallBurger?" "*WHAT*?!" "He snapped the phone shut, and with a steel-hard glint in his grey eyes and his jaw firmly squared, he applied a shocking *smack* to one of the rounded, upturned butt-cheeks of the sleeping Kid Buck. "*Yeeeeeoooooow....!*" "Get dressed, Kid! Move it!" Groggily, the sniffling Kid rubbed his behind. "Yeeow! My butt still stings from the horsing you gave me..." "That was Titan Man on the phone!" the black-leathered Intruder cut in. "He's just picked up a special message over the airwaves on the secret police radio-scanner in the T-Mobile! There's a felony in progress! Right now!" "Where?" "*MacBeachBallBurger*!!!" ***** And so, as we leave our assorted costumed superheroes to attend to the aforementioned felony in progress at the aforementioned MacBeachBallBurger, we are left in some state of anxiety to know how a place can be so named, and what it looks like, and our anxiety is further raised when we realise that it will not be until the following issue of COSTUMED SUPERHEROES that we will be allowed to find out! Fuck! ***** thobyandover@y7mail.com