The Missing Sex Scene: Superman

Clark sits on the roof of The Daily Planet, watching the slow rotation of the world. Metropolis is all lights and the squeaking of brakes. He loves it here, but decides to do it anyway. He holds his breath for a few moments, thinks of Lois, her bright eyes. She teased him today, his winter boots, large and furry. She said he ought to shave his legs, farmboy. The weather doesn’t bother him, but she does. He bought the boots for the tease. He exhales smoothly and evenly, starting with the clouds. Atoms stick to atoms in them and they begin to come down, alarming frozen ice shards. He can do snowflakes, convincing ones even if they’re simple, but he doesn’t have the time. The ice shards make little flock flock noises as they hit his face and overcoat. He knows that the shock of his body breaks them at the crystalline level. He wonders if they would hurt a normal man and eases them back a little bit. That’s the problem with imperviousness. Tweaking is impossible.

He blows, still in the same breath, across new windcurrents, rearranging them, creating distortion in the upper atmosphere that drift down through the higher air pressure. He finishes with a few small puffs aimed at power lines miles in the distance. He focuses in on them and watches them fall. Large parts of the city go dark except for a few headlights and cigarettes. Each pop makes him feel bad, but it’s nights like this that keep the spirit of the city up. People need a challenge to come together, he thinks, then laughs at his pun.

The Daily Planet goes dark, and more importantly, Lois’s apartment goes dark. He made sure of that, snapped the little power line right on her street. If he’s going to do this, he will not mess up. He’s a perfectionist when it comes to Lois. Because Lois is perfection. It’s time to rush down to her now, turn over a few chairs in a bumbling way. Call out her name, as if he needs her help, is afraid of the dark. There is no dark for him. He’s embarrassed watching people struggle in it, their eyes open and arms out. He wants to help them, but he can’t.

“I love you, Lois,” he says in a voice that’s booming, but so low-pitched that only he can hear it, and heads down to save her.



“It’s alright, Lois, no monkey business. I’ll sleep on the couch,” Clark says just before he closes the door. She watches him lock it before she sighs and accepts the night ahead of her.

“Did you just say ‘monkey business’?” she asks, but shakes his response off before he can give it to her. A housefly hovers over her head. He’s mortified and takes it out with a quick zap of the eyes. It lands on her head, legs in the air. He sends a quick puff to throw it off of her. “Drafty in here, huh?” she says. He sighs. Flies or drafts, he will always disappoint her. She goes to his framed pictures on the windowsill. When she looks at his visage, he sends warm waves to her pussy from behind. He’s never done this before, not on purpose. His X-ray vision shows some subtle effects. So far, so good. “You know what, Clark?” she says, a little cautiously, “You were a good looking kid. Is that your house?”

“Yes,” Clark says. He warms his body temperature as he walks to her, radiates near her. He’s not doing it on purpose. He asked Jimmy one day if this happened to him when he was in love and Jimmy stared at him for a moment. Clark panicked, thought he’d just given something away, but Jimmy just admitted that he’d never been in love with a girl before.

Lois looks a little awkward, searching for a way into normal conversation, Clark at her side. He reaches around her, positively molten now, and points at the photo of the house. “Yes,” he says. “That’s the tree that my father planted as a boy, that’s him there, and this is the back door, and this is the window to my bedroom.” It was a bad way to end it, the mention of the bedroom. Clumsy. But he couldn’t find anything else in the picture to comment on. He has lots of powers, but smell isn’t one of them. His sense of smell is simply normal. For the first time in his life, he regrets it. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to Lois before in calm air and would love to smell every part of her. He smells only her hair and that Lois perfume.

The space between them is palpable, more liquid than gas. Clark can see her breasts rise and fall slowly in his peripheral vision. He stands quietly and radiates, happier than he’s ever been. The rest of it would be nice, but he doesn’t need it anymore. He turns his head and says it again, if anything, louder than he did before, “I love you, Lois!”

“That was weird,” she says. “Did you just feel that?”

“Can I get you anything?” he asks, pushing up his glasses. Standing this close, she can see they’re non-prescription and he shouldn’t have drawn attention to them, but he did anyway. Habit.

She turns to him and looks for a moment right at him. He thinks his jig is up until he realizes she’s only looking at his eyes.

“No, thank you. It’s late.” She breaks apart from him. “I’m going to bed.” As she walks away, he gets a good look at her pussy. It’s dripping. He considers running to her, picking her up, sweeping her into the sky, surrounding her in the warmth of his cape, watching the ice shards melt on her skin as he makes love to her. His feet remain where they are and he listens to the crush of the ice on his windows.



He lies on the couch and watches her try to sleep through the wall. She turns and flips and pulls at his shirt. He’s been popping her with warmth, as subtle as rain in the summer. In the end, he’d be content to do this all night, to watch her squirm, make her lose her inhibitions and make herself come. He’s lying in a fetal position on the couch, the ache in his pajama pants begging for relief. “Make love to me,” he says in the deep voice, not terribly loudly. “Make love to me, Lois.”

Lois opens her legs and slips her fingers into the side of her panties. Clark gasps. She punches the mattress.

“Fuck it,” she says, and Clark is shocked at the word. His mouth is still open when she gets out of bed, goes to him on the couch, spreads his legs and lies down between them.

“Is this okay, Clark?” Her voice is broken as if she’s been crying, but it always gets this way when she’s under any kind of stress. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do. I don’t… know… what’s coming… over me.”

“Lois,” he says in a controlled voice that sounds too much like his alter ego, “I….” He kisses her and she begins to move over him, to slide on him, to let her fingers go to all his places. He shivers like a scared schoolgirl and he wonders if some of this Clark persona has started to metastasize onto his real personality. He picks her up from what should be an impossible leverage and carries her reverently back to the bedroom, the side of her bottom bumping his penis, and lays her down, his hands sliding up her sides as lets her down, finally ending in her hair. He opens her legs and lets his cheeks brush across the inside of her thighs as he descends. He pushes forward, the smell of her at last, and wraps the loose crotch of her panties in one superhuman finger.

She can’t know, he reminds himself. Why can’t she know? She just can’t, he reminds himself again. He leans into her glistening want, splits her between the finger and thumb and lets her have this, just this. That’s the least of what she deserves.

His tongue flaps so fast on her that his saliva can barely balance out the friction. He makes quick, indiscernible dips down between licks to pick up some of her oozing sweet to keep it up. She has an orgasm, releasing across the bed madly, sheets in her fists, with barely a moment to yell before he brings her to another. He works her into three before she begs him to stop, begs him to come up and fuck her. She said that word again. He accepts it. She can’t quite be all there right now.

He climbs her, dropping his pajamas as he goes, her face still open and panting. He keeps his face away to be polite, but she leans forward and kisses him anyway, a feral Lois, new and shocking. “Fuck me,” she says again, taking his penis to her between two fingers, pushing him forward with her legs around his torso.

She can’t know, he reminds himself. Why can’t she know? She just can’t, he reminds himself again. He struggles, counting, as he makes love to her, as she sheathes him inside of her. He tweaks it until he thinks he has a normal pace, though he can’t say for sure. He keeps it to the same rhythm that Mr. White exhibited when he mimed making love to a temp. It’s good this way anyway, he tells himself. He can pay attention to every part of her, can nuzzle her neck and tenderly cup her breasts. She’s sweating and he can taste it. He loves her, knows that he’s practically setting fire to her with his body temperature but can’t help it. He opens his eyes for a moment and burns a cigarette-sized hole in the pillow next to her face. Darn.

“What’s burning?” she asks, but soon forgets it.

She sighs, stops him, makes some adjustment, feels his penis in her fingers and bends her knees back to her chest. She guides his penis down as he stares at her, unsure of what she’s doing. “Lois?” he says.

She pushes his penis into her behind. “Lo-“ he starts again, then feels the tight around him. He swallows and waits disbelievingly as she slowly falls onto him, wincing. A wall inside of her relaxes. He gets in further. He is overcome by the tight, the intense pressure of her. Another wall falls and she relaxes. “Go,” she says.

He begins to make love to her behind, his mind melted, his body outside of his control. He starts to go as fast as he can, which is to say, faster that any normal man can. Her eyes squint and she has another orgasm. He’s sure that he’s hurt her, but she’s not hurt, she screams his name out. “Clark!” she yells.

“Lois, I love you,” he says in a normal voice, the sense in him vanished somewhere in the air.

“I love you too, Superman,” she says.

He has no time to react, pulls out before he gets her, orgasms with Superman force, blowing a hole in her pillow and consequently the wall. Feathers are flying when he opens his eyes. One lands on her lips. She puffs it away and smiles at him. “I love you too, Superman,” she says and laughs. That Kryptonite laugh of hers.