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League of Super Type People

'I write because there is a voice within me that will not be still' Sylvia Plath


Marc Slaughter: The Night Claw

Pashun Parker is my personal secretary. Very loyal. Very efficient. I trust her with my life ... my finances ... The massive conglomerate of businesses that I inherited from the very grandfather that forced my mom to give me away for adoption, right out of the womb.

Pashun had proven herself ten times over. But I knew she was the right one when I hired her. I saw it in her eyes. Right out of school. Eager to find a stable position as a secretary. And as she impressed me, I gave her more responsibility. And though I didn't say it out loud, it was understood that she was second in command. That if I was ... indisposed ... Pashun knew what to do and her directives were to be followed without question. I depended on her and she never let me down. 8 years and counting.

There was a sexual tension between us as well. I was sure that if I said the word she'd marry me. But as great as I was sure that would be, I couldn't give in to that fantasy. I was too much of a womanizer and wasn't ready to let that go. Yet whenever there was a hint of her trying to have a romantic life, I found myself giving her a new responsibility or creating a new task to take up her extra time. Then rewarding her great job with a exciting trip to a exotic locale, again under the guise of business.

I'd say something like ... I was researching a location for an expansion property and desperately needed her input. Or I'd say that we were going on a talent search and pick some random band playing at a distant nightclub that she needed to go out of state or country, to investigate. And while there, I'd leave instructions for her to be showered with fancy meals, flowers, jewelry and shopping sprees for clothing and shoes. Instructions and credit cards on standby.

The first time I attempted to shower Pashun with such affection -- in person -- she got all humble on me and tried to come up with every reason in the world to refuse. But as much as I appreciated that down to earth spirit, I put a monkey wrench in that action.

"Pashun, you're very important to me ... I couldn't do anything that I do without you in my corner. You keep me sane, you keep me focused and you keep our businesses afloat ... The very least I can do to show you how I feel ... A mere token of my affection ... is to dress you up in fine jewelry and clothes ... You're a beautiful woman and I want you to have beautiful things to enhance that beauty ..."

"Marc ..."

"Think of it this way ... If you look good, I look good ... You're a representative of this company, And people know that if I'm sending you in my place, I thought enough to send the very best. A woman deserving of respect. A woman of excellence. And that's what I always want people to think when they see you coming -- excellence."

And then I capped my speech off with a kiss to the frontal lobe ... her nose ... and then her lips ... Yeah, I was playing dirty. But I felt I had to, in order to keep Pashun close to me. Yet, I also believed and feared that if I let us get too close, things might change for the worse. That I'd be forced to share all of my secrets with her. And having such information could place a target on her back. So as much as I wanted her, I vowed to keep her at arm's length.

I also couldn't get too close because I spent far too much time patrolling the streets late at night as a costumed avenger; slamming criminals against brick walls and interfering with rapes, vandalism and kidnappings all over town.

It would be kind of hard to continue striking fear into the hearts of men if I'm all goo-goo eyed in love. I didn't need the distraction.


Marc Slaughter was surprisingly sophisticated for a billionaire playboy. He was well read, listened to Jazz, watched vintage movies and was an excellent cook.

Perhaps that was why the women all flocked to him ... Or fell at his feet, would be more accurate. That's what I surmised. But over time, I realized that no one got to see the non shallow side of him, except a chosen few.

When it came to his hussies, Slaughter played the part. Dumbed himself down, so that all they saw was this extraordinarily good looking man with money to spare. A arrogant cad who signed Gangster rappers and oversexed R&B singers to horrible contracts. The kind where they made very little money, while he raked in all of the big bucks. The arrogant egomaniac who made a killing daily in real estate and retail and oil leases. Not the overly generous man that built homes in hurricane and tornado devastated areas; built schools in education starved lands, fed and clothed the homeless.

I saw the real Slaughter.

That's why I put up with his bulls**t. Because I knew that there was much more to him than met the eye. And though it tore a piece of my heart out every time I saw him with his flavor of the week, I was willing to wait him out. Ready to give him a piece of my love, even if only for just one night.


Ola Wilson is NUBIAN STEEL


She has powers but struggles to do the right thing.


Screws one guy when she's supposed to be in a relationship with another.

Wants money. And if it means using her powers to get it ... As a crook? As a entertainer? All of the above?

Drinks coffee like alcohol.

Moved to the head of the line when in costume and enjoys the perks and endorsements that super herodom can bring.

Long brown hair

Shirt dress with low court canvas sneakers and sunglasses

19 years old.

Like everyone else with walking around with enhancements, her powers came originated from the unexpected meteor shower that the government tried to downplay.

Those powers included invulnerability, flight and super strength.


He was watching me. I felt him watching me. Perhaps judging me. Possibly disapproving me. Why? Because he was the OG of superheroes. Some would say that greatest of them all. An amazing title to have since he was not meteor enhanced. He was just a extraordinary man with a sexy costume and marvelous weapons.

I flew upwards towards the roof of the corporate building where he was perched; wondering what he had to say. Half expecting him to chew me out for being a rookie who took chances. And there he was ... The Night Claw.

I landed on the roof and stood there for a good 15 minutes as he continued to sit on the ledge, refusing to look at me. Outright ignored me even.

I'd always admired The Night Claw. An amazing example of what hero could and should be. Everything that I wasn't. But personality wise, where I could probably considered a bit b**chy. He came off as totally cold and a little scary; demanding respect without actually asking for it. Which is why I stood there so long. And then finally he looked over his shoulder as if to say, "You're still here?", looked back out into the night, then swung his legs back towards the roof, stood up and faced me.

I stood my ground, though my legs were shaking a bit as he inched towards me and raised his hand. And I flinched. Me, who stop as speeding bullet with my bare hand, race a speeding train and take a hit from semi truck going top speed on the expressway ... I flinched, thinking that this mortal man was going to slap me or something like a rapper at a awards show or something.

I told you I was scared of him ...

But he didn't.

He didn't strike me.

Instead, he brushed my hair out of my face ...

Stroked my hair ...

Stroked my face ....

And then he kissed me ...


Shay Mason, The Captivating Cosmic Girl

Ma and Pa Mason ... They were the greatest. The salt of the earth. I didn't deserve them.

Besides the mishaps that came from having a superpowered teenager in the house, there was the fact that I was a teenaged girl in general; with all of the urges, curiosities, impulses and temptations that came with that stereotype.

Pa is a farmer. All about his land, his crops, his pick up truck and his Country music ... I love him so.

Ma runs a General store/ resale shop that opens at 11 am and closes at 6pm. And my job was to help her run the store during the week and on Saturdays. Which was cool, because we came in contact with all kinds of interesting people looking for deals on furniture, CDs, DVDs, comic books and other nick knacks and collectibles. And though some of the wise a** kids at school called me "Resale Girl" and Lamont Sanford, I actually enjoyed working with Ma and didn't trip over having a non existent social life. I was good.


I had a unique bedroom/apartment in the loft of our family barn, which allowed me to have some privacy. But it also reminded me that I had chores to do each morning when I rose -- surrounded by hay and bags of feed for the animals.


Two cans of tuna. Open. Drain the juice. Empty into a large bowl. Dice a whole onion into the bowl. Crack three eggs. Season with lemon and pepper seasoning. Stir mixture together.

Make a nice round circle and place it into a hot, buttered skillet. Cook until the edges are brown and then flip with a spatula. Brown. Place another dollop and repeat the procedure.

Everyone talks about salmon croquets, but I discovered that in a pinch, tuna would do just fine. Just as yummy and satisfying.

I don't have to eat because of my otherworldly DNA, but I enjoy doing so, thoroughly. Just like I so enjoy watching television. And that was all that I really wanted to do after working at the store.

The Clock, a JUDY GARLAND film, was on. So as I crammed my meat into a couple of buns and watched the slices of cheese drip slowly over them, I realized that it would all taste better if I had some Kool Aid to wash it down with ... The color is ... Blue.

Ma and Pa were having date night. Or rather, date weekend this time. After dinner and a movie, they were going to stay over in Millville City and come back on Sunday evening.

I practically had to push them out of the door. Ma was always so cautious about leaving me alone at home. All she saw was her little girl home alone. She forgot that I was more that I seemed on the surface. Sometimes I forgot ... But tonight I was feeling very teenage-ary. And I wasn't interested all of a sudden in being all alone. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure that I wouldn't be able to get fine a** multi billionaire Marc Slaughter to come to Millcreek at the drop of a dime. Four hours away at that.

Then there was that cute guy at my cousin's job. He had a crush on me. And I was pretty sure that he wasn't working tonight. But I didn't have his phone number. Though I was pretty sure that my online buddy, Janessa McKenna (communications officer for The Protection Agency super hero team that my cousin aka Cosmic Man was a member of), could retrieve it from cyberspace for me.

"Shay ... I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"That's an invasion of privacy."

"Not really."

"How so?"

"Because he actually likes me. And once I call him ..."

"So ask your cousin to call him and relay the message."

"I ... Can't ..."

"Why not?"

I searched quickly for a lie that would resemble the truth.

"Because ... Um, he'll probably wait 'til Monday to relay the message. And my whole weekend will be blown."

"Sorry Hon. If I get into using Protection Agency computers for personal gain, it could backfire on me and cause me to lose my job. And the paycheck is way too good for me to allow that to happen. Okay? Okay," she said, hanging up.

I couldn't believe that she hung up on me. Of all the nerve. I couldn't stand her.

Truth was, I couldn't call my cousin. For the simple reason that ... The last time we were together, something weird happened between us.

A single guy. I'd been trying to matchmake and find him a date. But no one that I hooked him up with seemed to warrant a second date.

It took a minute, but I figured out that he was intentionally making a bad impression; purposely messing up the dates. But I couldn't understand why.

I confronted him on it while swimming with him in the swimming pool of the Protection Agency headquarters. And he gave me all of this song and dance about not having time for women. And I accused him of being gay and he got p***ed off. Next thing I knew, he was slapping my hand out of his face and then we were wrestling.

I was on top of him, taunting him under water. But then he flipped me over and held me by the wrists, too tight for me to break free ... And I felt his erection ...

When he realized that we were crotch to crotch, he instantly let go and floated up and out of the water. And we didn't talk for about three weeks.

It dawned on me that I was trying so hard to fix him up, because I was attracted to him. And now I had evidence that he was attracted to me as well. And all of a sudden, I began to wonder if it was him that I should be trying to invite over. Which I did.

I invited him over to watch movies. Said that I'd cook if he wanted. But he countered with offering to pick up some Chinese food.

I don't know what excited me more. The thought of him coming over or the fact that he was actually traveling to Mongolia at super speed to pick up our food in 30 minutes or less.

I didn't know whether or not to change out of my nightclothes and put something chic on. A dress of some sort. But then, I reconsidered. Who wears a dress to watch movies in the loft of a barn? Unless it was a pajama dress. A nice nightshirt maybe, with matching blue slippers. Perhaps? Yeah. That was the ticket.

On our home planet, cousins mated all of the time, but not necessarily on our adopted planet. Never the less, "Cuzzo" and I couldn't deny our insatiable attraction for one another. And once his hand was steadily creeping up my thigh ... It was on like popcorn.

Two superpowered beings making love for the first time ... So much fiery passion spilling over. But because of the unspoken rules of planet earth, he would tell me afterwards that I was his little secret. And I had to reconcile with myself whether or not that would be good enough for me.


Nathan Lafferty: Cobweb

They say that if you have tremendous powers, you should take on a lot of responsibility ... But I have to admit that I wasn't really feeling that.

Come on now ... I have the strength and agility of a spider. I can even make webs with a slight of hand. How hot is that? But still, sometimes I wonder why do I bother fighting the criminal element as a costumed super cop, when I could use my talents in other avenues.

Perched on a rooftop, I shoot a thin strand of web towards a pineapple at the farmer's market. Then at the very last second, I shift towards a big, juicy tomato. Not that I really have the taste for one, but just because I can. Then with the flick of the wrist, I snag a salt shaker and suddenly the tomato becomes more appealing as I retract both quickly towards me.

Every now and then, trouble did find me. But when you go swinging around the city in a snazzy costume as I did, I guess that was a necessary evil.

The cool part was, once I gave in to the whole hero vibe, I was actually pretty good at it. My jam being back alley brawls against multiple would be rapists. That as tough as they appeared, with my enhanced meteor rock infused blood racing through my veins, I could take those buffed bozos out without breaking a sweat. Na' mean?

Then after I lay those jokers out, flat as a pancake, the bodacious chick that I rescued was so grateful, that she begged me to take her home. And as she tightened her arms around my neck and wrapped her legs around my torso, I had no expectations. But when I escorted her to her apartment door and she threw herself at me ... It was then that I realized the whole costumed vigilante gig could have some perks that I never considered.

Such as the night when i ended up at a college campus in an all girl's dorm with two chicks barefoot and in socks, ravishing me. And neither got slick and tried to remove my mask. Which meant that they'd definitely earned a second date when I found the time.


I'd already messed up my senior year in high school before I received my powers. So now that I had these great powers and the means with which to acquire wealth, I dropped out and got my own apartment. Living on my own terms and loving it. Which is how I ended up making babies with two different women. Because too much freedom can sometimes make you careless.


I don't know who was more excited. Me or my two little ladies. It was the first Saturday in May and time for Free Comic Book Day at the local comic book store. As well as the annual flea market at St Corinthos church, the community parade and the vintage car/arts and crafts show in the park.

My 7 year old, Melody, was only excited about the free comic books. While the three year old, Taraji, just wanted to be with Daddy. Bless her heart.


Melody's mom had on pink long underwear with the button fly in the front. And on her feet were fleece flip flops with a Crystal pink colored thong between the toes ... She tried to give me attitude; telling me not to have her daughter around any other "hoes". Translation: "I want you to be my one and only. But since you are not allowing me to do thus, I'm not going to make life easy for you."

"Melody ... Sit down and watch tv for a minute. Daddy needs to talk to Mommy for a minute."

Melody growled like a angry bear and began whining, "Dad -eeeeee ..."

She may be a tad spoiled. But I have no clue who could have done that.

"I promise I won't be long. Okay? I need you to be a big girl."

"Daddy, if you take a long time, I'm going to get mad and turn into She Hulk."

"Okay Baby. Don't turn into She Hulk. Because that'll make a big mess."

As Melody walked away, I grabbed her mother -- Amya -- by the wrist, gave her the angriest of eyes, dragging her into the bedroom and scaring the absolute bee-jeebies out of her as I pinned her to the wall.

God help me, I liked the look of fear in her eyes.

I wanted her to think that I was off kilter. But if she really knew me, she'd realize that I could never hurt a woman. Not even one as bitter and evil as she made herself out to be.

As she braced herself for my wrath, I planted a light and gentle kiss on her forehead. Then her left cheek. Then her right cheek, before settling in on her lips.

It only took a couple of seconds before she parted her lips, allowing my tongue entrance. Her breath tasting like a caramel latte.

Five minutes later, Amiya's fly was unbuttoned. My zipper was undone. Her legs were wrapped around me as I was wedged inside of her.

I didn't even move. I just stood there, kissing her passionately. No stroking. No massaging her behind. No nothing. And as torturous as it was, I needed to save my energy for my next stop: Taraji's mom, Cree.

Cree was different from Amiya. Whereas one was unpolished, the other was very classy, stylish (without being a slave to fashion trends) and a drinker of strawberry and creme frappuccinos versus liquor.

In fact, Cree having a child with me was pretty out of character for the college graduate. However, unlike Amiya, she wasn't looking for me to throw cash at her. And she gave the appearance that she didn't need me in her world. That is, during the times that we weren't actually together. And of the two, if I was going to reveal my crime fighting identity to someone, Cree would be the one.

© 2022 LaZeric Freeman

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