This story involves scenes of sex and violence with DC Comics Superman. It is written with the utmost respect toward the character.
“Welcome back to the Super-Challenge. I’m Christopher Cain reporting exclusively for WGBS Sports. After eight days, the action here at Metropolis Square has finally come to an end, and what an exciting competition it was. I’m going to try and get a word from the man of the hour, Superman!”
A crowd of onlookers watched as the portly reporter made his way up the small staircase, onto the stage where Superman was seated to the side of a small table. An empty chair sat opposite the Man of Steel.
Even sitting, Superman’s physical dominance was undeniable. The skin-tight blue uniform clung across his broad shoulders, emanating an air of power. The “S” was stretched over his mighty chest, clinging to the deep crevice between his pecs and outlining the large, firm nipples. Short, black wavy hair topped a perfectly tanned, chiseled face that was beautiful to behold.
“Superman. Could you remind our viewers what the Super-Challenge was all about?”
“Sure Chris,” Superman replied in a deep, confident voice. “It seems that at least once a month, some new meta-human arrives on the scene and immediately sets out to prove he’s stronger than Superman. They inevitably arrive here in Metropolis, do something destructive or extravagant to get my attention, and then try to pick a fight. It’s become something of a right of passage for new metas. The problem is that not only do the fights often involve property damage and endangerment of the public, but it also keeps me away from greater threats that lie elsewhere.”
“Now, I know some of these people aren’t truly bad and could one day become a great hero in there own right. Most are ego-inflated muscle heads who have something to prove with their newfound strength. Only a handful actually go on to become super-villains.” A slight chuckle escaped Superman’s grin. “And frankly, I’ve never been really challenged.”
Cain glanced down at Superman’s gigantic arm, resting on the table. “It’s not hard to see why, those are some mighty powerful arms there.” The reported blushed slightly as when he realized he was staring at the 22″ gun that Superman called an arm. “So,” he continued turning back to the camera, “the Man of Steel has created the Super-Challenge. This inaugural event of a yearly competition drew hundreds of metas from around the globe to Metropolis for a chance to arm-wrestle Superman.”
“That’s right, Chris. I figured the least destructive way for someone to test their strength against mine was in an old-fashioned arm-wrestling contest. Plus, all the proceeds are going to charity. And it wasn’t just metas from this planet. Off-worlders and even some visitors from parallel universes showed up.”
“And no one was able to beat you?”
“Well,” now it was Superman’s time to blush. “That’s true. I would simply keep my arm still, no exertion of any kind, and test my opponent’s power. With most I could barley even feel any pressure, even when they were using all their strength. I’d let them try for a minute, then gently lower their arm to the table. There were a few people who gave me a workout though. A couple of Daxamites, Thor and Atom-Smasher all were worthy contenders. My friends Captain Marvel and Power Girl stopped by to support the charity…”
“That’s right,” interjected Cain. “There has been quite a debate over the past few years as to who is the stronger between you and Captain Marvel.”
Superman laughed. “The real question is: whose stronger between Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel? I’d say those two are evenly matched for the number two slot.”
“And after eight days, you’re not even tired?”
“Nope. I did rest a little after the Hulk battle and He-Man lasted two days straight, but I’m in peak condition right now.” Superman smiled and raised his arm, flexing his biceps for the camera. Cain let out an unintentional moan.
“Um…uh,” he said, trying to regain his composure, “I guess there’s no doubt why you’ve earned the name Superman.” Cain turned back to the camera, his face flush. “For WGBS sports, this is Christopher Cain signing off. We’ll see you again next year.”
A few minutes later, Superman was still seated at the arm-wrestling table, signing autographs for the spectators. A few even asked to get their photographs taken arm-wrestling him. As the crowd died down he heard a familiar voice call out to him. Looking up he saw a handsome, young, redheaded man walking toward him, carrying his trademark camera. A dark-haired kid was following him.
“Well,” Superman smiled, “if it isn’t ‘Superman’s Pal’, Jimmy Olsen.”
Jimmy laughed at their private joke. “Hey, big guy. How you holding up?” he asked, joining Superman on the stage. Jimmy was casually dressed in jeans that were a size to big and a blue T-shirt with “Daily Planet” written over the chest, un-tucked of course. A bit on the skinny side, Jimmy had always admired Superman’s overwhelming size.
Superman lowered his voice so only Jimmy could hear. “Are you kidding? Do you know how much self-control it took not to laugh in the faces of some of these guys? Talk about weak.”
Jimmy and the dark-haired kid laughed. “Supes, let me introduce my friend TJ Toupalik.”
Superman turned toward Jimmy’s friend, really looking at him for the first time. TJ was gorgeous. About 5’10, he had short, spiky black hair and deep blue-gray eyes. His jaw was almost as square as Superman’s and his skin was a smooth, flawless, golden tan. He was wearing jeans as well and a long-sleeve dress shirt. The thing that really struck Superman were the large dimples that appeared as TJ grinned, shaking Superman’s hand.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir.” TJ began. “I’ve been a big fan for years.”
“Thanks, TJ. It’s always nice to meet Jimmy’s friends. How did you two meet?”
“At Metropolis University. Jimmy and I have a class together. It’s my first year and Jimmy was nice enough to show me around the campus. Then when he found out today was my 18th birthday, he promised to introduce me to you as a present.”
“How about a picture?” Jimmy said, snapping of a shot. “Hey TJ, pretend you were one of the contestants.”
TJ blushed, “Me arm-wrestle Superman? That would be a quick match.”
Never-the less, Jimmy persisted and soon Superman had his arm on the table, his sinewy hand engulfing TJ’s soft, yet firm one. Jimmy snapped off a few pictures as another line of autograph hounds started to form.
“Come on now TJ, I don’t even feel anything,” Superman jibed.
TJ’s blue-gray eyes sparkled. “Oh, I didn’t realize we had started.”
With a movement almost to quick to register, TJ slammed Superman’s hand to the table, a mischievous grin appearing on his handsome face. The crowd was stunned, though not nearly as stunned as Superman himself.
“Holy Shit!” yelled Jimmy.
“I told you it would be a quick match.” With that, TJ raised his arms in a double biceps pose. As the muscle power began to flex, a ripping noise was clearly heard throughout the now silent stadium. The buttons popped of the shirt cuffs, forced to the brink by the swelling forearms. Meanwhile, the peak of his biceps shredded through the top of the sleeves. As the fabric tore away, the clear definition between the biceps and triceps became apparent. TJ was ripped.
“Damn. I ruin more shirts that way.” TJ reached to his front and ripped the remains of the shirt off his torso, exposing the most perfect specimen of man ever. Not an ounce of fat was on him. The tanned skin was stretched tightly over every compact, rippled muscle.
Veins flowing with power snaked across his arms and chest. Superman sat with his mouth hanging open. His eyes traveled from TJ’s confident eyes to the smirking dimples, down the contours of the golden neck to the perfectly rounded shoulders. TJ’s chest was amazing. Two slabs of sculpted concrete that Superman was sure were harder than his. The pecs were completely covered with silky black hair, framing half-dollar sized nipples, that quickly narrowed to a slight trail, tracing its way down an eight-pack stomach and disappearing in the waist band of TJ’s jeans.
“Um…uh…um…” Superman stuttered.
“The word you’re looking for is ‘Wow’,” replied TJ. “I know what you’re thinking. Where did this body come from?” TJ turn his smile toward the crowed held in the captivity of his power. “Let me give you guys a little tip. Bigger isn’t always better. Those ‘’‘roid heads here earlier thought that just because they had 20″ biceps, they were tough. Well, these biceps are only 17″, but there is more strength in them then in all those so-called heroes combined.”
TJ sat back down and propped his right elbow on the table, flexing the biceps just a bit. “Want to try again ‘Supes’?”
“You can take him Superman!” Someone yelled from the crowed. A quick glare from TJ immediately silenced the man. He didn’t want to piss off a guy that could take down Superman.
Superman, after the initial shock, had regained his composure as was determined to put this kid in his place. “You surprised me before kid. It won’t happen again.”
Superman gave his own massive chest a flex; the “S” stretched to its limits, and grabbed TJ’s hand. The two opponents stared each other down, each squeezing their grip harder than necessary.
“Jimmy,” TJ ordered. “Count us down.”
“Yes, sir.” TJ glanced at Jimmy and smiled. The redhead took orders well. Jimmy was both scared and thrilled at the same time. He gave the signal and the two strongmen began. Christopher Cain and his cameraman, who had stood dumbfounded with the rest of the crowd snapped out of their stupor and began filming.
For thirty minutes the two men sat hand-in-hand steadily applying pounds of pressure against each other. No one seemed to be making any headway. Superman had started gradually. The display of TJ’s strength didn’t give Superman a good guess of what the kid could handle. He hadn’t been trying the first time and didn’t want to hurt the younger man. But now, thirty minutes into it, Superman was using all the power he had. To his relief, TJ’s arm began to fall. The hero looked into TJ’s blue-gray eyes and saw faltering determination and, maybe, a hint of pain. The kid bit his lower lip. The silent crowd began to murmur, encouraging their hero on. TJ’s hand was an inch to the table.
“You’re tough, kid, that’s for sure.” Superman boasted. “But you’re up against Superman. Try again next year.”
“Hey Superman.” Superman looked up at his opponent and saw the dimples were back. “Just kidding.”
To Superman’s horror, TJ’s hand stopped an inch from the table and in one smooth, swift movement resisted the larger man’s power. In a second Superman found his own hand pinned against the table.
“Ladies and gentleman,” TJ said turning toward the amazed crowd, still pinning the Man of Steel’s arm, “I think we have a winner.”
To be continued…