“So, you slept with her yet?”
Clark rolled his eyes. “George, don’t you ever think about anything else other than sex?”
“Blame it on Freud,” said George. “Just be thankful I haven’t asked you if you ever wanted to sleep with your mother.”
Clark snorted. “I thought Freud had been discredited.”
“Oh, there are still some die-hards around. But seriously, I’m guessing you haven’t, yeah?”
Clark nodded. “We’re not ready for that yet. We’re taking things slowly.”
“We or I, buddy?” asked George.
Damn the guy – did he know everything? Clark sighed. George was right – Mayson had been dropping heavy hints lately, trying to take their kisses and petting just that little bit further than Clark was comfortable with. He’d fended her off, trying to make it into a playful game, but more and more, he knew that the fun was wearing a little thin as far as Mayson was concerned.
It wasn’t that he didn’t find her attractive. He did, and all the right things happened in all the right places when he thought about her. The mechanics were working just fine.
But mentally...mentally, he just couldn’t. There was a barrier that stopped him taking the next step – taking any steps, really. Even his petting was a little forced, if he were honest with himself. God help him if Mayson ever found out – so far, he was pretty certain that she hadn’t noticed, and he was just hoping that in time, he’d really mean all those intimate caresses and kisses.
But did George have to know all this? Was nothing sacred any more?
“We,” he replied firmly. “We don’t want to rush things.”
“Let’s see...it’s been, what, three months since you met her? You sure the lady’s not getting even a little hot under the collar? You said she eyeballed your body from day one – I’d say three months is pretty long time to hold on to all those raging hormones, wouldn’t you?”
Again, he was right. Clark knew it was unfair of him to make her wait, and he felt more than a little guilty about that.
But he couldn’t. That barrier...that damned barrier...
Suddenly, tears were pricking his eyes, tears that came from nowhere. He bent forward, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers to try and stem the tide. “Shut up, George,” he muttered.
He felt George’s broad hand on his shoulder. “Hey, bud,” he said in his softest tones. “Easy there. You still having those dreams?”
Clark nodded. “Yeah.”
The dreams where Lois was in danger. He’d had one last night – always, he sensed her fear, knew that she was in danger and that people were hurting her, but the threat was invisible. He could never attack it, never make it go away for her. He couldn’t even touch her, or talk to her. He just hovered on the sidelines, watching her pain.
“Look,” said George. “I think there are some issues here that we need to discuss in more detail than we’ve got time for now – am I right?”
He nodded miserably.
“Okay. Come and see me the day after tomorrow and we’ll thrash them out together. Usual time.”
Clark closed his eyes, mortified and depressed by this latest development. Booking an extra session with George seemed like such a retrograde step. Things had been going so well. “What’s happening, George?” said Clark. “Am I...regressing? Getting worse again?”
“No, I doubt it. This is just one of life’s curve-balls. We’ll get you through it, don’t worry,” said George reassuringly. “You’re still clean, aren’t you? The dispensary haven’t reported any kryptonite requests for months.”
“Yeah, I’m still resisting,” said Clark. “Can’t say I never want the stuff, but so far, so good.”
George patted his shoulder. “Good man. I’ll see you Friday, okay?”
**************
Unfortunately, Mayson wasn’t interested in waiting until Friday. No, she picked Thursday as the day she would finally lose patience with her boyfriend.
The evening began normally enough. Dinner at Luigi’s, their favourite Italian bistro, followed by coffee back at Clark’s place. A video was mentioned, although things went off the rails well before a choice could be made and the video rented.
Mayson was feeling amorous and clearly wanted Clark to know it. Any time their hands touched, or bodies brushed up against each other, Mayson lingered just that little bit longer than usual. Her smile became just that little bit more seductive, her eyes alluring; even her laugh seemed sexier than usual. She wore Clark’s favourite suit – the burgundy one with the short skirt and neckline that just skimmed the swell of her bosom – not too much on show, but enough to tantalise.
Clark responded. He didn’t really have a choice. Mayson knew all the right buttons to press, what turned him on and what made her hard to resist. And even if there was a growing unease at the back of his mind, how could he made her feel unwanted when she was trying so hard to please him and clearly wanted to be loved?
When her caresses became more intimate, he tried his usual game of playful resistance, but this time she wasn’t to be deterred. She smiled and shushed him, slanted her open mouth over his and continued her explorations with her hands.
His head began to cloud over. He lost his perspective, his clarity of thought. The unease grew stronger, but so did his desire. Perhaps if he’d still been a virgin, his resistance might have been stronger, but this was familiar territory and it had been a very long time since he’d last made love. She led him onwards, helped him to discover that she was as beautiful as he’d suspected, as desirable as he could ever have wished.
Things began to spiral rapidly out of Clark’s control. His one chance to break the spell might have been when they transferred from the sofa to the bedroom, but even then, Mayson knew how to keep him with her. She took him by the hand and led him. Whenever he hesitated, or protested, however mildly, she simply smiled seductively and shed another piece of her delectable outfit. In effect, she did a slow striptease for him, and he had neither the heart nor the stomach to let her think she wasn’t having the desired effect on him.
And so it was that he found himself in bed with Mayson, she having undressed him and tugged him down to lie beside her. Everything about the scene felt wrong, from the way he’d allowed her to seduce him to the way he was woodenly caressing her soft curves and murmuring empty words of desire in her ear.
But, he told himself, one day he really was going to love this woman. Love took time, George had said. So what if this was a little premature? Mayson clearly wanted him a lot, and as her boyfriend, wasn’t he merely doing what any good boyfriend would do? He was responding willingly to his girlfriend’s wishes, giving her exactly what she wanted.
She smiled up at him. She looked so happy; her eyes shining brightly with excitement because at last she was exactly where she’d wanted to be for weeks. “Love me, Clark,” she murmured.
But he paused, drawing slightly away from her. Love me, she’d said. The trouble was, he didn’t.
He closed his eyes in panic. Suddenly, he knew exactly what would happen. He’d make love with her – or simply have sex with her, more likely – and then the tears would come. He knew it as surely as he knew he wasn’t in love with her.
Would never love her.
Lois Lane still dominated his love life.
He couldn’t do this to Mayson – couldn’t use her like he’d used all those other women. She deserved so much more.
“Clark?”
“I...I’m sorry,” he stumbled, rolling quickly away onto his back. A pulse was beating in his head; a familiar feeling of panic fluttering in his belly. “Sorry.”
“Hey,” she murmured, moving over him. Crowding him. “What’s wrong?”
The pulse in his head grew to a loud thumping in his chest. She was too close – too intimate. Way too intimate. It wasn’t right. He scrambled off the bed and stumbled a few paces across the carpet, breathing heavily. “Sorry,” he muttered again, his back to her.
He heard her move on the bed. “What did I do wrong, Clark?” she said.
“Nothing. It’s me,” he said.
He heard the sheets rustle again.
“Was I too fast? Should I have let you take the lead?”
“No, you were fine,” he said.
She was standing a few paces behind him. He could sense it without even turning around, prayed she didn’t come any closer. He couldn’t bear it if she touched him.
“You don’t want me, do you?” she said in a small voice. “You’ve never really wanted me.”
He put his hands up to his face. She was so, so right, but he couldn’t tell her that. “It’s not your fault,” he said.
“What’s wrong with me?” she asked. “Are my breasts too small? Backside too big? Legs not long enough for you? Which is it, Clark?”
“You’re just fine, Mayson. You’re a beautiful woman.”
“Once more with feeling, Clark,” she said bitterly.
He could feel the tremor in his hands as he held them against his face. “Look, I’m really sorry. I wish this hadn’t happened.”
“So do I,” she said. “It’s her, isn’t it? The woman you really love – the one who’s always been there in the shadows, haunting our relationship.”
Oh, God, she knew. He thought he’d hidden that from her, buried it away just like he’d blanked it off from himself. But she’d seen through him just as easily as clear glass.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I tried, Mayson, I really did.”
He heard her get off the bed, start dressing. “I think I’ll go now,” she said.
He stood, frozen to the spot, while she dressed behind him and crossed to the door. “Goodbye, Clark,” she said.
“Bye.”
The door closed quietly and he crumpled slowly to the carpet, cradling his pounding head in his arms. Things had been going so well, he thought miserably. He’d found a girlfriend, a woman he thought he had real feelings for, and he’d tried as hard as he could to make the relationship work. Whenever he’d had doubts, he’d pushed them aside and pressed on, determined to make a success of it.
But now everything had gone to hell again. He’d lost Mayson, and the craving was back with a vengeance. He was shaking violently, like a man with a high fever. He needed Lois, not Mayson. He needed kryptonite, not sex with Mayson.
Already, he was aware of the other Clark Kent reawakening within him. Inside the shivering, naked carcass on the carpet was another person – the person who searched and plotted devious ways to get at the red stuff.
He grasped himself around the middle, trying to quell the shakes and fight the craving.
****************
“I...I n-need to see to George,” he insisted. The phone handset jittered against the side of his face as he tried to hold it still in his shaking hand. “Something’s happened.”
“I’m sorry, George is out of town this evening,” replied the clinic’s receptionist. “Can I make an appointment for tomorrow morning?”
“No, I need to see him now,” he said. “Please, where is he?” George was his lifeline, the only thing standing between him and total disaster.
He had no idea how long he’d remained in a naked heap on the carpet, but eventually some sense of propriety had asserted itself and he’d stood shakily and dragged on his clothes. Then he’d sunk onto the edge of the bed, picked up the phone and dialled the only person he knew who could possibly help him survive this hell.
“I’m sorry, he didn’t give us an address or contact number. Would you like to see the duty therapist?”
“No.” The duty shrink would just ask standard questions and make sympathetic noises – he needed more than that. Much more. “I-if he calls, would you tell him I called?”
“Sure, who shall I say...?”
He opened his mouth to give his name, but the words stuck in his throat. The other person shut him up, the one who knew that if he gave his name, they might send someone around to his apartment. He didn’t want that. The other person certainly didn’t want it.
He slammed the phone down and stared at it. Now what? No George, and he needed the kryptonite. Now. Right this minute.
The clinic wouldn’t be any use – they’d take too long. They’d question him, try to talk him down, tell him to take deep breaths and find the damned sea of tranquillity.
Perry didn’t have any. There was none at the Planet – not any more.
There was only one other possible source, and even that was a long shot. He knew they’d done a pretty good clean-up job even there.
Nevertheless, minutes later he was standing in the pitch black of Shuster’s Field.
The other person took over. The calm, scheming planner, who searched methodically and carefully for tiny fragments of red rock. Even tiny pebbles buried near the surface would be better than nothing. If he found enough, he’d get a decent hit.
But they’d been thorough. Extremely thorough. After long, long minutes searching increasingly frantically, he could only find one small fragment. He cradled it in his trembling hands, felt its weak and feeble energy touch his craving with agonising inadequacy. The effect was almost worse than finding none at all.
He fell to his knees in the middle of the darkened field. Crushing defeat enveloped him, his thoughts skittering wildly over the dreadful scene with Mayson, the dreams of Lois, his pitiful part-time job at the Planet. Everything was going to hell again and this time he didn’t even have something to take the pain away.
The weak red glow from the kryptonite fragment drew him into its depths. There was only one way out that he could see from all the misery. He tipped his hands up to his mouth and swallowed.
***************
