Page 4 of Not All Himbos Wear Capes
“Hi Xander! Thanks for reaching out! Does this Friday night work for you? I see you like fried chicken. I could take you to a place! Let me know what works for you! Best, Butch.”
The instant I hit send, I feltlighter,which was odd, considering the circumstances. Joining a dating app like Bangers—one created primarily for random hookups—wasn’tprohibitedfor supes, but it certainly wasn’t encouraged. If Biggs discovered my profile, I’d probably get put on double overtime data entry duty until next quarter. If myparentsfound out, they’d simply frown in the language of severe disappointment and sternly remind me that my one goal in life is to ‘be the hero others need you to be.’
But what about whatIneed?
Stripping off my Biggs Enterprises-issued Lycra supersuit, I caught my reflection in the mirrored closet doors, moving closer before finally removing my mask and tossing it aside. What remained wasn’t Captain Masculine, but Butch Holt, the secretly disgruntled 22-year-old son of famous superheroes with the fate of an entire city resting on his shoulders. It didn’t get anysuckierthan that.
I wonder if Doctor Antihero ever has moments like this.
There was no reason for me to be thinking about my nemesis, not when I was as naked as the day I was born. Antihero wasn’t the first villain I’d been tasked with monitoring since being assigned to Big City, but heintriguedme—to where I downloaded a dating app just to get him out of my head.
He didn’t behave like the usual villain. His behaviors seemed more systematic than psychopathic. Even when I thwarted his schemes, he didn’t strike back—just doggedly tried again.
His determination is impressive.
I didn’t know where exactly his hideout was located, but Awakener’s Bay seemed to be his favorite playground, so I usually just hung out in the area until I found him. More often than not, I didn’t interfere. I was content to simply observe the mysterious villain who’d turned into an unhealthy obsession.
While he wasn’t stacked like me, Antihero was still tall and muscular, with more of a swimmer’s build than a bodybuilder. He had no shortage of cool seaworthy vehicles, equipped with various confusing attachments he used to poke at the water before twisting the throttle and speeding away to his next destination.
And the way he handles that throttle…
As if compelled, my hand dropped to my dick, giving it a rough stroke that almost had my knees buckling. Masturbating wasnotthe sort of activity a superhero had time for, and engaging in it while fantasizing about your enemy was about as wrong as you could get.
But I’m so tired of doing the right thing.
Leaning my other arm against the mirror for stability, I began pumping with a vengeance, squeezing hard enough that I gasped. Because of how completely our supersuits covered us, there was no way to know what Antihero really looked like—which only made my imagination run wild.
Antihero in that green spandex suit I loved the most… leaning over to collect a water sample with his round butt in the air. Antihero fitting his scuba equipment into his mouth in a way that had me wishing it was a specific part ofmesliding between those lips…
I came so hard my head banged off the mirror, temporarily whiting out my vision. When the earth finally righted itself, I looked down to see my cum sprayed all over the mirrored surface—clear evidence of what I’d done.
“Oh, sugar,” I cursed under my breath, darting to my bedside table for a tissue, somehow both satiated and humiliated at the same time.
Which is not the worst feeling, for some reason.
My phone dinged just as I’d finished wiping the cum from between my fingers—a notification from Bangers.
Xander had replied to my message.
Using my still slightly sticky hand, I tapped the notification to open the message, my breath catching as I read his reply.
Xander:“Are you a serial killer?”
I gaped at the message, unsure if I was offended or somehow more interested. Based on his profile, Xander obviously had a sense of humor, so I assumed he was joking.
Flirting was not my forte, but the illicit orgasm had loosened me up. Biting my lip, I quickly tapped out a reply and hit send before I could overthink it.
“Why? Are you into serial killers or something?”
His reply was instantaneous.
Xander:“Yes, I am.”
Xander: “But what I’m trying to determine is if you truly are one or just don’t know how to communicate in a way that doesn’t sound like a corporate email.”
I had to laugh at that, especially after I scrolled up to reread my original message.
“Haha! Guilty as charged!”
