Strength in Numbers: Pt 2 The Good Girl Chs 45 & 46

45. SUPER ... WHO?

“Fuck I’m sorry, mom, I really am sorry.”

“No, don’t say that, darlin’, these things happen.”

“I ... don’t ... know ... I thought I was careful.”

Jen was on her bed in her kimono, Susie next to her with a sheet wrapped around.

“Jen, tell me, first time on ya back?”

“Yeah, but I dropped my legs, I didn’t squeeze or nothin’.”

“It’s got nothin’ to do with that darlin’. Ya see, it’s the way ya cum. Ya thighs just took the tension and, well, he was a gonner.”

“Can’t even get a fuckin’ orgasm right.”

“It’s not a disaster. One dislocated right hip and a broken left pelvis. Could be a fuckin’ lot worse.”

“Sure. He could be dead.”

“Or paralysed. Darlin’ I’ve done it.”

Jen pushed the hair back behind her right ear. For the first time she sat straight and look at Susie.

“What, mom, you hurt a guy? Havin’ sex?”

Susie grimaced and looked at nothing as she spoke.

“I was young, real young, I didn’t understand how it all worked and I had no fuckin’ idea ‘bout an orgasm and this guy, my age, fuckin’ gave me a finger fuck, ya know, had half his hand up my cunt and he got me to cum, first time, and I couldn’t control it.”

“What happened?”

“They had to amputate his arm above the elbow. I just came and my legs just, I dunno, came together and his arm was mush.”

“Fuck, mom. I’m sorry.”

“It’s somethin’ ya learn. I ... just didn’t know how strong an orgasm could be, I been cool ever since.”

“Except maybe for a wall downstairs.”

Susie came to life.

“No, ya right Jen, that’s how ya do it. Put ya strength into somethin’ that doesn’t matter. Ya know the first time I came for Ned I put my fingers through the steel hull of that ship I lifted.”

“I getcha mom. Focus on somethin’, anythin’, but for what could be a problem.”

Susie laughed.

“I hate to say this but those paramedics will sure have a great story to tell at home tonight.”

Jen snickered.

“Yeah, there he was, poor bastard. Naked. In agony. Cum all over his thighs and abs. And his cock. Seven inches o’hardon still stickin’ up into the air. He musta had a needle or somethin’ to keep him up.”

Susie nodded

“The boys at the Club do that.”

“I’ll pay for his medicals, mom, just give me the details.”

“All taken care of darlin’, and technically ya already have. I still had the money from when ya had ya little night in Galveston. The rest Gareth will fix up.”

Jenna smiled at the organisational whiz now standing in front of her.

“I’m sorry I destroyed it for ya, mom.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not. Mine wasn’t as good as he thinks.”

Jen pursed his lips.

“Mom, sorry, I need ya to go with me, okay?”

“Go where?”

Jen reached up and pulled the sheet away from Susie, the force of the movement bringing the bottle blonde a foot closer to the bed. In the same movement Jen lifted her legs and wrapped them tight around Susie’s waist. For her part, Susie was keen for it and the dampness of Jen’s thighs and the heat of her cunt made her horny. But Jen had other things on her mind. Within a couple of seconds of getting her position she squeezed hard with all the muscles below her waist.

Susie felt discomforted, then the pressure of Jen’s strength.

“Hey, hey, girl, I thought you wanted some action, but, hey not this, ow, fuck, let go. JUICE! JUICE!”

Jen dropped her legs. Susie’s face was a foot from hers and grimaced in pain.

“Juice? What the fuck is juice?”

“Ow, shit, it’s my safety word, ya know, when ya have a bit of a play. But fuck Jenna you play hard.”

Susie rubbed her back and hips; that was real pain.

“That can’t be right, I’ve squeezed you before, it’s never ended like that.”

“Ya must’ve used some force.”

“Not really. Here, mom, grab my wrist and squeeze it.”

“Squeeze it?”

“Yeah, hard as ya can.”

Jenna had an eight inch wrist but Susie’s grip enveloped it. She began to squeeze, still unsure where all this was heading.

“Harder, mom.”

“This ... is ... hard. Fuck.”

Susie let go and looked at her right hand, flexing her fingers.

“I gave it my best shot, darlin’.”

“Nothin’. Usually I would’ve thought I’d get a bit o’pain from your grip. It’s stronger than mine.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m weaker in my old age.”

“That’s not right. Ya got any of that metal lyin’ around?”

“There’s some in Jess’s room. I’ll get it.”

Susie turned and grunted at the pain from hips that didn’t want to rotate. She hobbled rather than manoeuvred her way through the bedroom door, her massive naked form reappearing within the minute with an ingot of the reddish-gold metal.

“Give it a squeeze, mom, same pressure you used on me.”

Again, her hand easily enveloped the object, but this time, and perhaps with greater surprise, the metal began to give.”

“Shit. I haven’t done that before.”

Susie let go of the ingot and wrung out the effort in her hand, Jen taking hold of the ingot.

“It’s got all grooves from ya fingers and ya haven’t done that before?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Ya ... must be stronger not weaker. Is that the same pressure ya put on me?”

“To be honest, I put more pressure on you. I stopped when I could feel the metal give.”

“Can I crush it?”

“If ya can.”

About ten inches long, Jen placed the ingot end to end in her hands. Her elbows out she began to push her hands together. Annoyed at the constriction of the kimono, she disrobed and began again. The effort not only showed on her face. The muscles of her arms, her traps, her delts, even her lats and abs, tensed and expanded. And something else. Veins. A dozen or more, some the size of small steel cables, others like little mounds under the skin, began to appear and expland. As she pressed the veins expanded along with her muscles. Then, the metal gave way, slow at first but within ninety seconds of her starting, Jen had a ball of red-gold metal in her right hand. Looking at her mother, she smiled.

“Holy shit, that was an effort.”

Susie was awed.

“Brilliant work, darlin’, not as quick as ya sister, but awesome nonetheless.”

Jen lobbed the ball of metal to Susie who caught it with her right hand.

“And somethin’ else I haven’t seen before – ya veins – real prominent. I normally see the serrations in ya muscles groove up, but ya veins were up all over.”

“Try to flex, mom, and use the metal like a pump ball.”

Susie flexed her right bicep and squeezed on the metal ball, released the grip and squeezed again.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, good, good. ... Turn ‘round.”

Susie could feel Jen’s hand on her shoulder and the reverse of her bicep and triceps.

“Never noticed a vein on ya before, mom.”

“Neither had I.”
“They’re there alright, like little vascular cords of steel pushin’ out from ya muscles.”

“Same as you then.”

“And I tell ya somethin’ else, you flexin’ hard?”

“Yeah.”

“I reckon ya bi’s got bigger, maybe only an inch, but yeah, bigger for sure.”

Susie dropped the pose and turned around, lobbing the metal from hand to hand.

“Well, I know one thing, darlin’, if you and I are stronger so is ya little sister.”

“How could ya tell?”

“Point. But I reckon, she’d know.”

“I’ll leave it to ya to find out tomorrow, mom, I’m gonna crash out.”

“And I’ll leave ya ta ponder how ya can cum without turnin’ a guy to mush.”

“Well, there’s one sure fire way. I might give Gran a call and see what she suggests.”

“I can tell ya this, Roz knows only two positions and the first one she learnt in the circus watchin’ the animals.”

“Gotcha.”

“And with Gareth’s preference for the same thing, I doubt they’ve gone too far into experimentation. Sometimes best to stick with what ya know.”

“Good point, mom.”

“Night, darlin’, I’ll tell ya what I find out from the Muscle Miss.”

The issue never came up again. Or at least not with Jen. There had been a shooting in town and the victim known to the McAdams. This absorbed the conversation of the Sunday followed by some Jen-and-Jess time while their mother visited the slain local’s grieving family.

Jess never mentioned the paramedics or anything that would suggest she was aware of the kerfuffle the night before. Jen suspected she knew and in silence praised her sister’s discretion. Still, Sunday rolled into Monday, Susie seemed distracted with other events. Jen was happy Jess and her could sit on the sofa together – alone – and watch the Cats DVD one more time. At the end of the disc and with Jenna now sitting above her floor-seated sister, she started to fret at her mother’s whereabouts as she needed a lift back to Houston.

“Damn our mother, Jess. She said she’d be home half an hour ago. I don’t wanna miss this plane.”

“Why don’t you run to the airport?”

Jess stood up and extracted the DVD as Jen spoke.

“I got my good shoes on, darlin’, I don’t wanna mess ‘em up.”

“I can take you, Jenna.”

“No thanks, darlin’. I’ll get mom.”

Jess, with the DVD in hand, stood in front of Jen and with her arms by her side, pushed her elbows out tensing her ample arm muscles. As always, the almost six year old wore a sleeveless outfit, today a small teen’s sun dress.

“I’m strong enough, Jenna, I’ll get you there real quick.”

Jen could foresee this little display of girl muscle snapping the disc in half.

“I know you are darlin’, but I don’t wanna let mom off the hook. Here give me the disc.”

Jess looked sour.

“You don’t like me being stronger than you.”

From the mouths of babes.

“Oh, no Jess, I love my little sister and it doesn’t matter who’s stronger than who in this family. We’re all super strong.”

Jen moved forward to give Jess a kiss on the cheek but she moved.

“Mommy told me, Jenna. She said you liked being stronger than her and when I came along you didn’t like it because I can lift more than you.”

“That’s just mom bein’ troublesome, darlin’, I don’t care about how much we lift or whatever. I’m happy you’re a little supergirl.”

“Supergirl’s a blonde, Jenna. And she’s got blue eyes. Mine are brown.”

“Well, ya almost a blonde, sure are a lot fairer than me and mom.”

Jen tried an unconvincing laugh. Jess looked daggers.

“I can make you.”

“Yeah, I know ... look, alright ...”

Jen slapped her hands on her quads.

“... okay, Jess, I’ll do it. But only if mom’s not here in fifteen, okay?”

Jess wore a broad smile.

“Beauty, Jenna, I’ll get you there fast.”

There was a curiosity inside Jen that hoped her mother would not be on time. As it was, Susie rang on the landline ten minutes after the conversation while Jen finished what she needed to do. Whatever the substance of the conversation, Jen would never know as Jess informed her sister that her mother would not be there and she was her only option.

Closing the front door, Jen threw her bag over her shoulder and clambered onto the bent over back of the Muscle Miss. The girl’s arms locking in the woman’s legs, Jen put her arms across her sister’s chest. The only softness was the fabric each wore, otherwise it was steel binding on steel, diamond on stone. Jess set off without warning and within two seconds had reached a speed that passed cars as if they were standing still. Jen was astounded at the sheer athleticism. Sure, Jen and Susie could run fast, but they moved like a super charged basketball or football player. Jess seemed like a predatory animal in full flight, the torso and head remaining still, the legs taking all the movement, adjusting with ease to all the subtle bumps and changes in terrain. Jen had to admit she was impressed. This was a cut above her. Not just the speed, which had to be close to the hundred, but the smoothness of the ride. Clay had trained her very, very well.

“I’ll let you off here, Jenna.”

It was the edge of the car parking area for the airport. Jen would have to leap a seven foot fence which, in the presence of her sister, would be an easy task.

“Thank ya, darlin’, that was really impressive.”

“I told you, Jenna, I’m strong, I’m fast, I’m good.”

“Great to be modest too, darlin’, anyway, gotta go, see ya at Easter.”

“Bye bye Jenna, love you.”

“Love ya too, sweetheart.”

No surprises to Jen, Jess had taken her to the only part of the outer complex which didn’t have a cyclone wire fence. Rather, her entrance was blocked by steel bars, each an inch thick; four inches apart.

Jen thought the responsible thing to do would be to bend them a little, enough for her to get through, and bend back.

She couldn’t be bothered.

With a sweep of her left hand, a row of five bars screamed as they twisted and tore from their mounting. Two others were bent and remained in place. She could hear Jess’s displeasure at this vandalism as she climbed through the gap and walked toward the terminal. After a couple of minutes she glanced back to see the strength princess doing what she could to repair the damage, soldering with the grip of her thumb and forefinger the restraightened and restored bars to the bottom of the fence.

Funny to think how she left that metal frame so distorted at Cy Weatherby’s residence the night of his ‘disappearance’. Unless, of course, that’s what she’d been told to do. It was too counterintuitive to be anything else.

Inside the terminal she found the ubiquitous queues; the ubiquitous delays; the cacophony of disgruntled passengers and perplexed staff. After the indignity of riding her little sister piggyback for the twenty minute trip from home - one that would take an hour by car - Jen thought a visit to the bar for a quick crisp white would put the color back in her cheeks.

“Hey there little lady, or should I say, ma’am.”

“Hey ya self.”

Jen was on her second glass. Sitting to the side of the bar at a table on her lonesome, watching the cable news channel on the bar TV. She was wearing her custom made denim slacks with her fleecy top coverall. It wasn’t a display of muscle as such but the act of holding the glass up tensed the muscles in her upper arm forcing them against the fabric. If anyone bothered to look they could see she was packing some serious flesh under the 65% polyester.

And she was bigger too. She could feel it.

The talker was a handsome middle aged guy with a bit of a paunch and a Stetson. He motioned to sit at ninety degrees to her so he could also see the TV.

“Be my guest.”

“Watchin’ the news are ya, umm, ... my name’s Larry.”

“Hi Larry, I’m Jen.”

He held his hand out; it was met by her smile.

“I guess you, err, like the gym.”

“Sure do.”

“Yeah, ma daughter’s a gym junkie. Doin’ good, too, competin’ in the US Nationals next fall.”

“Powerlifter is she?”

“No, no, umm, body fitness she calls it.”

“Oh, I’m a powerlifter, I lift the big stuff.”

“Hey, you see this story comin’ up ...”

Larry pointed to the screen, it showed a telephone video image of a woman lifting and holding an armor truck over head.

“ ... yeah, they’ve found this real live supergirl, with super strength and all.”

“Oh, is that right?”

Jen’s first thought was another old video of Susie or Roz although on the grainy view, the woman seemed too thin to be either. Maybe Lyn? Yeah. That’d be it. Lyn.

With the sound turned down, the Texan narrated the story for Jen when the segment came on. The next video they had was a lot better. It showed a young woman, maybe late teens, early 20s, tall, long raven hair, quite attractive, wearing this burgundy-red supergirl lycra outfit, every bump and mound of a magnificent muscled physique was on show. A navy blue cape with the copyrighted ‘S’ symbol adorning the back view, an oh-so-short burgundy skirt sat above huge, defined quads and calves. She was barefoot and ample breasted, the display of her hard, rivet like nipples risking the family rating of this TV channel.

It wasn’t Lyn.

Nor anyone she knew.

The amateurish video showed the superwoman lift the truck, a subtitle on screen claiming it to be eight tons, and closing in on her as she did one press, maybe to show off the 19 or 20 inch biceps. She replaced the truck and walking behind it, used one hand to tear a reinforced door from its hinges and then, smiling at camera, folded it in half before throwing it off screen. Jen guessed the woman was maybe 5-10 or 6 foot and displayed a remarkable smallness in her hips and waist. This maybe accentuated the breadth of her shoulders and chest which – when compared to her own family – were unremarkable.

“What is this, Larry?”

“This is some footage taken after a heist of an armored van up in Omaha. This supergirl helped her boyfriend hold up the guards and just, well, carried the truck away. Literally. ...”

He laughed as if it was all a comic strip. He pointed again at the screen.

“... This video was put on the internet, the cops guess it was by the boyfriend.”

“What about the guards? Did she kill ‘em?”

“No one got hurt. Apparently one of the guards drew his sidearm and she just walked up to him and he fires off two shots right at her and she just smiles, grabs his gun and just crushes it. Ya know, Supergirl-like, as if it’s made of putty.”

“Amazin’.”

This whole little display had Jen speechless. With fortune on her side, the sound of her flight being called came through the speakers behind them. She jumped up excused herself and left at pace. Larry could drool over her all he wanted, she had a call to make before boarding the plane.

Susie Beaumont had spent her morning at Falstaff. She intended to return home when the ‘Omaha sighting’ hit the airwaves. Rip was called in from ‘quality time’ with Clare. Both arrived together, however, Clare waited in the reception area, well resourced with quality coffee. Susie, seated on an ‘executive’ swivel seat behind a standard USN-issue desk of pineboard, wore her coverall and loose trackies tied hard at the waist. There was no free ‘show’ on offer for the lawyer who sat on a simple steel framed chair, six feet in front of her. Her desk computer was displaying the last frame of the video that had now gone uber-viral.

“We think we might have a clue on this Susie, but it could also be a long shot.”
“What’d ya work out from it?”

“I’m told that sometime about seven or eight years ago, Angela and Cy had picked up this young stray from somewhere around El Paso.”

“Stray, what does that mean?”

“Sorry, um, young latino prostitute, umm, fifteen year old street girl. We think it ties in with somethin’ to do with the Club, but anyway, they get her to agree to an experiment. She injects herself with this substance, a concoction of human growth hormone and AL-5.”

“What? The metal?”

“Yeah, they found ... something ... to suggest that in a certain state it could be absorbed into the cells and provide an enormous strength transformation.”

“So this is that girl?”

“No. What happened was this. The girl is injected. She feels the strength straight away, her clothes begin to shrink on her, suddenly she’s real muscular. She begins to laugh, almost ... like an insane thing. A second technician is present in the lab, she goes up to him, still laughing, grabs his hand and with him screaming, just crushes it to pulp.”

“Fuck.”

“So Cy panics, thinks she’s gonna kill ‘em all, grabs his revolver from his desk and empties the clip into her.”

“Let me guess, nothin’.”

“She just keeps laughing.”

“So, they’re shittin’ themselves ...”

“And that’s it. She doubles over, incredible pain, shaking. Three minutes later she’s dead.”

“Okay, but now we have someone in Omaha.”

“For the next four years, Cy and Angela continued to ... retain the services ... of young street kids and hookers, girls and boys, from around Texas and the mid-west.”

“They kidnapped ‘em, ya mean.”

“No, there must be some voluntariness, some promise or something because they continued to experiment on each one. Sometimes they died on the spot, like the first, other times, they lasted two or three months.”

“What, as super strong kids, here at Falstaff?”

“Well, umm, as I understand it, they were also used in services at the Club. You might have met one or two. I know I have.”

“Fuck, yeah, Angela brought a guy and a couple of girls along from time to time. They seemed young and ... real weird.”

“Each probably thought they were unique with this super strength. I know the girl ...”

“Just pause there, Rip. Did you fuck one of them? At the Club? Right?”

Susie’s voice was rising above normal professional levels. She struggled to keep panic in check. Rip looked away.

“There was this girl, you won’t remember her, she was there once. We had sex on the mats at the back, it was great. I ... said ... come back after and, you know, she does the strength stuff, umm, lifts my car, bends up a road grader parked on the side of the road. You know ...”

“Okay, normal super strength stuff.”

“ ... yeah then we do it again and sleep over, so in the morning we get up and I’m getting dressed and I can hear her giggling, you know, weird, just giggling to herself and she starts goin’ round the house just ... twisting all the faucets, you know, just bending the metal and squeezing the pipes so nothing will work.”

“All the faucets?”

“Yeah, bathroom, kitchen, laundry, all of them. It was insane.”

“So you ran away in fear.”

“No I told her to get out and she just looks at me and reaches out and grabs me by the throat, you know, throat lifts me, right off my feet. And I’m, fuck, a foot or two off the ground, choking, with her just looking at me giggling.”

“And then she drops you.”

“Yeah, otherwise, I’d be dead. As it was she turned away, screamed in agony, doubled up and was dead herself within the minute.”

“Who’d ya call?”

“Thundra.”

“Good solver of problems, but does that mean they know about all this?”

“No, they were just doing a job.”

“Okay, so we know Cy and Angela were tryin’ to make their own Clark or Kara. When did you work it all out?”

“This afternoon. Like Angela, I can add two and two.”

“Fair enough, but how do we explain about Omaha’s superwoman?”

“One that got away, maybe. Could’ve been the latest model but for the little intervention after the Dean thing. I don’t know.”

“Do we know how strong this ... girl ... would be, umm, ya know, strong as me? Strong as Jess?”

“If it helps, in the act, she didn’t seem as strong as you or Jen, if ya get my drift.”

“Okay, but I need to know that. Also, that woman in the video was tall and muscular and real thin, but not broad, what was yours like?”

“Umm, she was shorter, oh, 5-6, maybe. Real big arms and a small waist with a tiny arse and big tits, but no, the shoulders and chest were a bit like the usual bodybuilder type for that height. ...”

“Mmm.”

“... If it helps, she had enormous arms and legs, but the other muscles seemed just, you know, bigger than normal, but not real big.”

“I getcha.”

“You don’t remember her from the Club, Suzz?”

“No.”

Rip felt wracked by some sort of guilt. A bit like the boy who had killed the dove. To Susie he looked like a puppy caught shitting in the house.

“There’s one thing for sure, Ripper ... oh, hang on, who the fuck’s this.”

The sound of the cell pierced the ambience of the room. Susie saw it was Jen.

“Hi ya, darlin’, sorry ‘bout missin’ ya lift.”
...
“Oh, right, the ‘Jess Express’.”
...
“Okay.”
...
“Yeah, I’m at Falstaff, I just saw it.”
...
“No idea darlin’, we haven’t got any missin’ family that I know of.”
...
“Ya know, Lyn might be right ‘bout Heidi, she might’ve had another kid.”
...
“Well, that’s the best explanation isn’t it?”
...
“Mmm, well she certainly seems super strong, just like the McAdam side.”
...
“Okay, darlin’ don’t worry ‘bout it. Enjoy ya flight.”
...
“Yeah, love ya too, see ya at Easter.”

Susie ended the call and turned her phone off. She smiled at Rip then stood and walked behind him, placing each of her oversized hands on the tight muscles of his shoulders. He spoke as she walked.

“Err, sorry, Susie, what were you, umm, about to say?”

“Ripper, darlin’, there’s somethin’ I want ya to tell me.”

His voice was hesitant yet co-operative.

“Sure, babe.”

Susie flexed her upper arms, the mere contraction of her muscles exerted pressure through her hands.

“Ow, Suzz, hey that’s a bit of power you have there.”
Susie laughed. She used a girl-like tone.

“Oh, was it Rip? Sorry, darlin’, Jen said she’s got a whole lot stronger and I think I have too. Gee, I didn’t even know I was squeezin’ ya.”

“Okay, Susie, ow, OW! FUUCCK!”

This time she did squeeze – just a little – and could feel the movement of tendon as it gave way to her strength.

Her voice toned to sinister.

“Now I want ya to tell me the truth, Rip, before I push ya through this chair or crush your shoulders, whatever comes first.”

His voice was gasping.

“I told you ... everything ... I swear!”

“Ya told me ‘bout her, but I wanna know ‘bout you. ...”

He squealed as she squeezed a little harder.

“... Now if ya ready, tell me why ya spent ya time watchin’ the FBI watch me while ya had some crazy superbitch to fuck and ya knew nothin’ ‘bout her.”

“Okay, okay!”

She eased the grip, leaving her hands on his shoulders.

“Wise choice, Rip, these are good quality chairs.”

He gasped out his words.

“I told ... the FBI ... but they didn’t care. ... They said their job ... was to watch you and your family ... not track alien sightings all other the south-west.”

“So what’d ya do?”

“Well nothing ... that was it.”

She squeezed – harder than before – she felt something give. He cried out. She was pissed. Very pissed.

“Tell me the truth! I’m not in the fuckin’ mood to care ‘bout the future of your physique.”

“Okay ... fuck! ... Okay. ...”

She allowed him to compose his thoughts - or concoct his story.

“... Yeah, I got the State Troopers onto it. I thought this ... girl ... might have been another McAdam who slipped the net. But no ... she wasn’t. She had no ID, no dental records. Nothing. She ceased to exist in this world a long time before she expired.”

Susie let go of Rip and walked back to her seat. She stared at his flushed face, his shaking hands rubbing his wounded shoulders; her voice emotionless.

“Tell me, did they talk to Angela?”

“She said the girl approached her ... in a gym ... she knew nothing of her strength.”

“And the gym?”

“It checked out.”

“I guess no one twigged to all these muscular boys and girls she kept finding in a gym.”

“I wanted to snoop around here. But we didn’t have the jurisdiction.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

Susie looked away. There was more to this but she needed Van Dyke at Falstaff not in traction.

“There is one thing, though, we reported everything back to the FBI. My contact said he’d follow it up with NCIS. I asked Ned when ...

Rip sighed hard.

“... the cell was cracked ... what he knew about it ... and about whether that Dean ...”

“What did Ned know?”

“Nothing.”

“Was he lying?”

Rip’s gaze met Susie’s glare.

“I don’t know, honest.”

“And Dean, was he part of this?”

Rip looked away again.

“I don’t know.”

She didn’t believe him, or at least not everything. A part of her wanted to hurt him bad. A bigger part knew she’d done too much already.

She returned to feigned sweetness.

“Thank ya, Ripper, I think ya better go see ya woman ‘bout gettin’ a lift home, I can keep things organised this end.”

Rip didn’t need to be told twice. He winced as he stood. Nodded his head once and turned and half strode, half limped to the door.

Susie was unimpressed.

A weak, weak man.

As he left Susie switched on her cell, opened the menus and tried a number.

“Hello Eric, Susie Beaumont.”
...
“I’m good.”
...
Ha, ha, yeah, still liftin’ oil rigs. Listen ya know ‘bout that supergirl thing in Omaha?”
...
“Nah, not one of us, there’s plenty of armored trucks in Galveston for our needs. No, serious, I want ya to pass on some info to the Omaha Police.”
...
“Look, tell ‘em not to engage her. She could be psychotic.”
...
“That wasn’t a set up or a lousy shot, she’s bulletproof.”
...
“This isn’t a hoax, Eric, we got a real renegade supergirl here. Be very afraid.”
...
“I dunno. Assume she’s as strong as me.”
...
“What the Hyundai? Come on, that was nothin’. And the counterweight was only twenty ton.”
...
“Like catchin’ a basketball. ...”

Susie laughed.

“... In fact easier ‘cause it fell in a straight line.”
...
“Well maybe she could lift thousands of tons, just tell those cops to keep away, she’ll prob’ly only fight if cornered. If she does they won’t stand a chance.”
...

Susie sighed.

“I dunno Eric, I really don’t. I might have to go up there.”
...
“Okay, thanks, all the best.”

Susie switched the phone off and stared at the image of the super-fiend on her desktop monitor.

Desktop. Of course.

46. COMING OUT

The appearance of this supergirl in Omaha rattled Jen on two fronts.

First, she needed to deal with Timothy. He had to know straight away that Jen was a super strong girl. If he gets a hold of this news story, she feared, he would be consumed by it: obsessed with the vision of this super strength princess in her muscle-bound crimson-red lycra tearing trucks to pieces. Damn. She couldn’t compete with that.

Well, not legally.

The second thing is this woman’s true identity. Where did she come from? Is she a cousin? Did Lyn have a child she didn’t tell us about?

It didn’t make sense but it also made a lot of sense. This whole strength thing came from Heidi or Imelda. It can’t be that the McAdam/Beaumonts are their only super strong descendants. There must be others and the girl in Omaha is from one of them.

But who, how, when and where?

And why is she tearing up armored trucks in a supergirl outfit, scaring the shit out of security guards?

As the bus neared Monterey in the twilight, the first issue overcame the second. Jen resolved to visit Timothy at his digs, the premise of returning the DVD as good as any. Then she would take off her sweat-jacket and ...

Voila!

Disembarking, she was close to the gym and thought that a quick peek would be in order. She felt her legs move at a quick pace – a running pace for others – indicative of the tension in the pit of her stomach. In the half light she saw a large, broad, figure of a man, walking in a wide arc concentrating on his phone call.

It was the guy from the early morning gym session. Somehow he looked more familiar. Jen was drawn to him. Straight at him, she moved quick; he was moving away then as he finished his call he turned around fast and ...

*Whoomp*

“Arghh, fuck!”

“Oh, shit, sorry!”

The guy hit her shoulder and bounced backwards, off his feet, landing on his backside on the grass and looking bewildered at the massive image standing over him. Jen saw those beautiful blue eyes just as he hit the turf.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Timothy, is that you?”

“Yeah, ah ... Jenna?”

She moved behind him and with her left hand under his right arm pit hoisted him up - almost overdoing it, his feet six inches above the ground before she let go.

“Oohh, shit, wow, thanks for that, I think. Jenna?”

“It’s me, Timothy, I’m sorry you didn’t see me in the dark, we collided.”

“No, my fault for not putting my damn specs on.”

He tried to feel in his kit bag, but winced in pain.

“Your arm, is it ...?”

“I ... I’m sure it’s fine. ...”

The grimace on his face and strained flexing of the right elbow told otherwise.

“... Geez, it ... it felt like I ran into a wall.”

“I’m sorry, I’m pretty hard.”

“You wearing body armor under that jacket?”

“No, just me.”

His left arm succeeded in finding the specs and as he returned them to their normal position, he looked her over with disbelief ... or denial. Jen tried her cute look.

“Can we ... umm ... can I give ya back ya disc tonight? Unless ya got somethin’ else?”

“No, no, nothing else, I just had a good workout, got to take a shower and cook up a stew I’ve kept in the freezer.”

“Oh, okay.”

“There’s enough for two ... if you like ... but you don’t ...”

“That’s great.”

They started to walk, Timothy still flexing his arm and wincing. Jen spoke up.

“Ya know, I could cook it up for ya, while ya have a shower.”

He ignored his arm and looked at her with a broad smile.

“That’d be real nice, thank you.”

She returned his smile. The awkwardness of the collision over, they talked about the DVD. Jen had to force herself not to sound too keen, not that the massive hunk of muscle to her left seemed to mind. The mishap all but forgotten, getting to know each other had returned to prime importance.

At the door Timothy stood with his back to her while he fondled for the keys in his bag. She stood a few feet behind, admiring the view, a tingling sensation accompanied her fantasy of getting her tongue between those gorgeous butt cheeks.

“Hey, Jen?”

“Yeah?”

She snapped from her moment of pleasure as the door opened and Timothy turned to her.

“When I hit the dirt back there, I could swear you hoisted me up one handed, like I was a rag doll.”

“Umm, yeah.”

“In fact, I was airborne for a second.”

“Were ya?”

“You must be packing some strength under those fleecy lines of yours.”

“Maybe.”

They went inside as he spoke.

“So do you do gym?”

“Not really, it’s not my scene.”

“Yeah I don’t socialise much there.”

He was looking for a tidy place for his bag; Jen pushed the door behind her and dropped her own bag in front of it. She didn’t wait for courtesies.

“Darlin’, there’s somethin’ ya should know ‘bout.”

As she spoke she unzipped her top and pushed it off behind her. She was wearing the same USN singlet she wore to the gym with Denise. It was tight across her tits and lats, loose at the waist; the over-the-shoulder fabric straining amidst a mass of traps and delts.

“Hang on, I’ll just get ...”

“NO! Look at me!”

He swung around and stared. She saw him mouth the words ‘fuck me’ but no sound came out. She stood smiling; hands on hips; extreme girl muscle in its most extreme.

“I told ya, darlin’, I’m a big girl.”

He walked two paces toward her, lifting his arm as if to feel what he could see. To feel if it was all real. He winced as the extended arm reminded him of its injury.

“Shit, Timothy, you have hurt ya self. There’s a bruise formin’ even now.”

She took the view that if he wanted to touch her, she could touch him, and her concern was for the area between the right elbow and bicep which was turning a nasty purple.

As she moved to rub the wounded arm she felt his left hand feeling her right delt and tricep.

“Jen ... they’re ... like iron.”

“Steel.”

“Yeah ... it’s like you’re made of solid steel.”

His voice incredulous.

“Ya see, darlin’, when we came together back there, it really was like hittin’ a wall.”

“You’re bigger than me ... than anyone I’ve seen. ... You’re the Woman of Steel.”

He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“No, I’m the same Jenna McAdam ya lent the DVD to and who ya takin’ out Friday night. Remember?”

“But how? You don’t do gym. You don’t do drugs, I’m sure.”

“I was born this way, Tim. Hey, can I call ya Tim? Timothy is a little, you know.”

“Gay?”

“Yeah, and I’m sure ya not that.”

“That obvious?”

“Umm, what?”

“Tim’s fine, just don’t call me Timba, I hate it.”

“Timba? ... Timba Wolff? ... Okay, I get it.”

“It was funny when I was ten, very boring in the twenties.”

“Cool. But look Tim, I was born like this, I mean, I always had muscles. Big muscles.”

“I’m amazed ... I was sort of hoping you might ... but ...”

“Yeah, I thought ya might guess from my shoulders.”

“Umm, I used to go with this girl who had real big shoulders, but she was just big, you know, broad and strong, but not muscled. Nothing like you.”

“That’s the other thing. I’m very strong.”

“You gave that away earlier.”

“Well, that’s just part of it. I mean I’m really strong. Like ...”

Jen gave a half smile and pointed at the DVD player. Tim’s gaze followed.

“Like what? ... That? ... You’re not saying? ... Come on; don’t make a dick of me.”

“Okay, okay. Show me the stew; I’ll get things started, while you wash up.”

She moved to her right as he moved to his left, again, their shoulders clashed.

“This place just isn’t big enough for two muscle grunts, Jen, I apologise in advance for every little bump and press.”

“You’ll be the one with the bruises, darlin’, now go, show me the dinner.”

Only one could fit in the kitchen at a time, Jen watched Tim turn on the gas hotplate, drop the block of frozen stew onto a saucepan and place it over the flame.

“I can take it from here, darlin’, go do what ya gotta do.”

“Thanks, Jen, you’re a babe.”

He put his left hand on her right elbow and hesitated to feel a little higher. She moved closer to pass him into the kitchen but then turned right forcing his hand to move, his fingers brushing across a nipple that sprang to life at his touch. He jerked back.

“Shit, sorry Jen, I didn’t mean that.”

She smiled.

“I’ll do ya a deal, you can touch whatever ya like, provided I can touch whatever I like.”

He gave out a half laugh and turned to enter the bedroom. She focused on pushing the frozen block around the pan. Boring - should use the microwave. No. Better idea.

Jen put both hands on the block and within a few seconds: steaming stew.

“How the fuck did you do that?”

Jen jumped not expecting a witness.

“What?”

“How’d you thaw it that quick?”

Jen looked at the sauce on her left hand. Revelation time.

Without a word she moved the pan and put her hand into the flame.

“Fuck, Jen! What’re you doing!?”

She watched as the sauce burnt off her hand. In his panic, Tim had moved in to turn off the hotplate.

“Why’d ya turn it off?”

“You were burning yourself! Fuck!”

She held her hand to his face; her voice matter-of-fact.

“Nothin’ burnt but bits of stew.”

“Fuck! How?”

Those brilliant blue eyes shot out at her like lasers. She dwelled for a second on the contrast they made with a face ruddy from adrenalin.

“I’m super strong, Tim. I can lift anything I want, I can crush anything I want and I can melt anything I want. Frozen stew’s not much challenge.”

“And this is how you tell me, by putting you, your hand in a gas flame?”

“I tried to tell you but I thought it best be done in a way ya understand.”

“Understand?”

Her smile was as wicked as her tone.

“Well, I’ve come out now, Lois. Okay, I’ve got a super power. Not many of ‘em, but then again I’m a girl from Texas not Krypton.”

“Fuck.”

Tim pushed his glasses up his nose and moved away from the cooktop, Jen moved to the sink to wash the other hand.

“Dinner’ll be ready soon, darlin’, ya better have that shower.”

He left without a word. He had a lot to absorb. She decided you got to be careful what you wish for.

As Jen dished the dinner onto plates she noticed a car parked in a space to the side of the residence. She groaned inside. She was so over lifting cars. Damn, just one more needed to be done. Tonight. Get this whole strength thing out of the way. Finish.