Bella Hauge--Freya--the most beautiful superheroine in Paragon City, was halfway down the metro stairs, her curls halfway into a ponytail, her heart halfway into her mouth, when she realized she was being stupid, not heroic. She stopped on a landing between two flights of stairs, and looked up, out of the metro, to see if anyone was watching. Long, tanned legs pivoted on perfectly-arched feet, and a small, bright yellow butterfly of a dress floated out of the subway as its owner tossed her hair back around her shoulders.
Men stared and women glared at her as she walked back up Thomas Street, and she, as usual, ignored them.
"Hey, Freya!" bleated a woman's voice. She kept walking.
"Hey! Freya!" said the voice, more loudly than ever. "Aren't you supposed to be a superhero here?"
Freya turned around. The voice belonged to a plumpish woman just past her prime, holding the hand of a man who was--like every other man on the street--watching Freya's perfect figure without the slightest interest in anything else. The woman was dressed in a checkered black number, which was embarrassingly too tight, and she wore nice earrings.
"This isn't my type of thing," said Freya, dismissively. "Let the cops deal with it, or another superhero."
The woman let go of her awestruck husband's hand, and placed two balled-up hands on her sizeable hips. "So, Miss Freya--and that's a ridiculous name, by the way--"
"--It's Norse mythology--"
"Is it, now? You're very well educated, I can see, so maybe you can tell me WHY I pay taxes so that a little hussy posing as a superhero can prance around, giving my husband a hard-on when he was taking ME out for our ten-year anniversary?"
Oh, not this. Not again. She tried to keep her anger in check. She'd stopped feeling sorry for these petty older women a long time ago. It was hard enough not being able to talk to a man without every woman hating you for making them feel bad about themselves.
"I...uh...I did stop the Evil Dr. Rupert from taking control of the city several months ago, actually," she said, ending on a slightly aloof note.
"Oh, gee, I didn't hear about that on EVERY front page! 'Newsflash! Sluttiest, laziest superheroine actually foils one crime! Glad she finally did SOMETHING so we can use her little half-naked ass to sell more papers than Penthouse!' Stop LOOKING, Kevin!"
Poor bespectacled Kevin, to his credit, managed to flex a neck muscle, but his eyes remained glued on Bella's face.
His wife continued, "How did you manage to 'foil' the evil doctor's plan, anyway? Did he groan it all out into your ear while you moaned back like the whore you are?"
"What?" Bella's eyes smoldered.
How many of these criminals," she whispered, coolly now, "how many criminals are behind bars now, swapping stories about tearing off that little yellow dress? Maybe when they're not trying to break out of Guldhelm, they sketch maps of your cavernous--"
"You frumpy, old, dried out, FAT bitch!" screamed Bella. But the woman was clever. She couldn't win any battle of words (what was she going to say, other than calling names? 'Your dress is too tight'?), and she couldn't strike her, so she did the one thing she could think of. "Come here, Kevin!" she whispered seductively, and, drawing his poorly-shaven, pale chin towards hers, she kissed him, shoving her tongue into his mouth, where his lay, inert. Her hands began to roam, over his shoulders, down his back...and, suddenly, she realized with some embarrassment, she felt a little bit attracted to the paralyzed man.
"Get off my husband! Get off my husband! Get off my husband, you stupid slutcow! You get off him!"
WHAM!
The woman's plump fist landed a blow in Bella's taut stomach, causing her to pull out of Kevin's mouth, drawing out their mingled saliva in a string as she doubled over.
The woman kicked her face, bloodying her nose. "You stay away from him!" The woman shook with rage and heartbreak. "You stay away, f**k you, or I'll..."
Bella stood up and, making sure the woman saw her laugh--though she didn't feel like laughing--she continued to walk up Thomas Street. "Go buy a new dress that actually fits," she yelled, when she was a safe distance away. Hot tears came. I am pathetic, she thought, ashamed to death of feeling, momentarily, turned on by a middle-aged man. She wiped the blood from her nose with a bare fist, like a child. She was twenty-five. It had been her first kiss.
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