Chapter 37 -- Nothin' Happenin'

"Nothing happened, all right?" Repeating the assertion for what had to be at least the fifth time that evening, the big man laid his hands on the table, palms up. "There is nothing going on between Jessie and me."

Eyes narrowed under her lashes, the petite redhead peered across the table at him. "Okay, I believe you," she finally said, reaching across the table. Her dainty hand all but disappeared when she placed it on his massive hand and he closed it about hers. "I know you wouldn't start anything," she continued, "and if she started something, you wouldn't be able to stop her. And I pretty sure she wouldn't start anything with you."

"Thanks a lot...I think." He tightened his hand about hers, harder than he would have dared to do with another girl's hand.

"Oh, I don't mean you're not worth starting something with." She got her fingers around his and squeezed back, but no harder than he was squeezing. "After all, I did. I mean, I started something with you. But you're mine now."

"For as long as you want me."

"And you want me." Caroline Hunter squeezed his hand again, then extricated her hand in order to pick up her wineglass. "To us."

Kyle MacGregor picked up his own wineglass. "To us." He clinked it against hers, and they drank the toast.

Seated in a back booth in a quiet restaurant, they had ordered their meals and were enjoying their cocktails while they waited for the food. It wasn't long before the food arrived. Like most such establishments, Sunday evening was far from their busiest. The conversation languished while they ate.

The petite girl didn't eat as much as the big man, but she could put away a surprising amount, and did so this evening, her enhanced metabolism requiring more fuel than an ordinary girl her size.

"What do you want for dessert?" Kyle asked when they'd finished.

"I'm looking at it," Caroline replied, licking her lips.

No need to order dessert. He smiled back as he reached for his wallet. "Your place or mine?"

Even though they'd often discussed moving in together, they hadn't taken that step yet, continuing to maintain their separate condos in the complex. As he drove them back to the complex, they discussed their plans for the rest of the night.

"We were at your place last night," she pointed out for at least the third time in the last two miles.

"I practically spent all of last weekend at your place," he countered yet again.

It really didn't matter to either of them who won this good-natured argument. Each of them had more than enough familiarity with the other's bedroom and its principal piece of furniture so that the locale wasn't going to have much of an effect on the night's principal activity.

By the time he pulled into the complex, they had agreed that tonight they would be at her place. He parked and they got out of the car, Caroline not bothering to wait for Kyle to come around to open the door for her. Arms around each other, they started up the walk. But when they reached the fork where the walk split toward their respective units, she stopped, her slender arm around his waist all but holding his big body off the ground as feet tried to take another couple of steps toward her condo.

"Give me five minutes to get ready," she whispered.

"You look ready now," he whispered back, though it appeared that his hands were doing most of the looking, holding on to her body even though with his feet again on the ground he no longer needed any additional support.

"Not just yet," she whispered, then pulled his face down to hers for a kiss.

Their lips had barely met when she slipped out of his embrace. "Five minutes," she repeated, then turned and bounded up the steps to her door.

Even though they still maintained separate domiciles, they had exchanged keys. It wasn't needed as it turned out, for she had left her door unlocked for him. Or for any would-be burglar. He didn't want to think about what would happen to any burglar unfortunate enough to wander into her bedroom while she was present. Caroline Hunter was rough enough on people she invited into her bedroom. Still, it would be wise to identify himself before he went into her bedroom. He'd tried to sneak up on her once, and she'd nearly broken both of his arms before realizing who it was. He was not keen on repeating the experience.

"Caroline?" he called out. "It's me."

"I'm in here," the reply came from the bedroom, low and sultry, full of promise.

And indeed Caroline was in her bedroom, waiting for him wearing nothing but a pink lace bra and matching panties. As Kyle kicked off his shoes and walked toward her, she sat up, propping herself up on one elbow and brushing the hair back from her face with her other hand.

"I love it when dessert comes to me," she said softly.

That was good enough for him. He leaped onto the bed, trusting her to catch him.

And she did. But rather than holding him to her for a kiss --- and more --- she laid him down beside her. Placing a dainty hand in the middle of his broad muscular chest, she prevented him from getting up.

"Now, what was that comment you made back at the gym?"

"What comment?" He had better things to do with his time than rehash old conversations. He certainly had better things to do with his hands. But first he had to get her hand off his chest. Both of his big hands wrapped around her slender arm, though he knew he had no chance of budging it unless she allowed it.

And she obviously wasn't allowing it just yet, her arm remaining anchored as solidly as a California redwood. "The one that had you and Jessie laughing so hard," she amplified.

"Oh, that." He laughed, releasing his grasp on her arm and letting his arms fall to the bed at his sides. "Jessie was showing off her muscles, and I told her she was doing it wrong. I said something like 'Women don't know how to handle weights'."

"I can see how that might set her off," Caroline kept her hand on his chest as she mused about her boss. "After all, she could probably lift the whole building."

"Yeah, but she wouldn't do it right!"

"Well, let's see how you handle weights." Keeping him pinned down, she rolled toward him and lowered her chest down onto his face, gently rubbing her breasts across his face.

His hands came up to caress and fondle her breasts through the thin lace of her bra. Now, these were weights he loved to handle. He eventually found the clasp and unfastened it, and she moved her arms out of the way as he slipped the garment off of her. Raising herself up, she returned the favor by pulling his T-shirt off over his head. His jeans and shorts were next, quickly followed by her panties.

His hands had left her chest just long enough for her to pull his shirt off. Now they were back, caressing and kneading her incredibly firm breasts. But she wasn't quite ready to take it to the next level. "Oh, so we women don't know how to handle weights, huh?" she asked, lowering herself beside him. She reached out and slipped a hand under his arm. Then she lifted him off the bed as easily as an ordinary woman might have lifted a teddy bear. "Are you saying this is the wrong way?" Still using just one hand, she hoisted him over her head once, twice, and a third time. "Though you're not all that heavy," she claimed as she raised him a fourth time.

His body rolled out of her hand. "Oops." Raising her other hand, she caught him and laid him down on top of her. "Maybe you're right. I don't know how to handle weights." Having said that, she handled the weight of his big body, shifting his position and guiding his face to her chest.

His hands found their way there on their own, Taking one of her breasts in each hand, he again marveled at how firm she was. Knowing that he couldn't hurt her, and knowing how much she enjoyed it, he squeezed each of her mounds with all strength in his big hands.

He licked the large hard nub at the center of one of her mounds, making it grow even larger and harder. His lips closed about the nipple, suckling. Then his teeth joined in, nibbling and biting, periodically transferring his attentions from one breast to the other.

His hands remained on either side of her chest, fondling and squeezing both of her firm mounds. After a while, she lifted him off of her and moved his body up hers, positioning him between her legs.

He realized that she had no intention of giving him a drop of her ambrosia tonight. He was going to have to rely on his own strength and stamina. He thrust himself into her, a part of his mind still amazed that such a petite woman could take his full length.

She really was going to make him work tonight. There had been times when she'd take him by the hips and stroke herself with him, using him as a giant dildo. But tonight she seemed content to simply wrap her arms around him as he thrust himself into her again and again, at his pace, not hers.

Her body began to shudder as she approached her climax and her arms tightened about him, steadying him as he continued to thrust. Then they were both there. Her bodies tightened even further as she held him to her, her firm breasts pressed almost painfully against his broad muscular chest.

Her body subsided as she came down off her peak and her arms relaxed. He pulled himself out of her and started to push his body off hers, but her arms remained wrapped around him, keeping him on top of her. With her breasts pressed not quite so hard against his chest, it was easier to get his breath back.

She was also getting her breath back. "Not bad," she whispered, unwrapping her arms, lifting him off of her and laying him down beside her. "For starters," she added.

"You want more?" Laying his head down on her stomach, he hugged her around the waist, then moved down between her legs, kissing her mound of hair. Then, he stopped for a moment, pushed her legs apart, and with both hands, held her open and looked at the deep pink folds, like soft moist flower petals. Then like a bee he dipped and tasted. She cried out, and arched to him, while he explored each petal, each fold, each crease, nibbling, suckling, teasing.

This was Caroline. This was his Caroline. This was her taste, her honey, and his own member was so full, and so eager. He wanted to wait, wanted this to last, but suddenly she could not. She was breathing hard, and fast, panting, gasping, calling out to him. She reached for him, pulled him up, then reached down to guide him once again to her warm deep well.

As he slid in, he breathed a deep sigh, and let his full shaft glide in and in, until she enfolded him fully. This was his Caroline. This was the girl he fit, the one who fit him. He stayed for a moment, luxuriating in her full embrace. It had been like this with her from the first time, and every time since.

No, this was his Caroline. Taking hold of his hips, one of the strongest women in the world began moving his big body faster and harder than his own muscles could do.

Even though he weighed more than twice what she did, she was in complete control. It had been that way ever since he'd first known her. Really known her, as someone more than just a neighbor with whom he'd exchanged casual greetings when meeting at the mailboxes or passing in the courtyard.

Dawn had already broken when I woke up Monday morning. I'd only napped for less than an hour since returning from my little jaunt over the harbor, but that was more than enough for a superior girl. Taking a quick shower, I gathered up my things and put on my travel clothes. Leaving my bedroom, I went out into the corridor. I could hear the boys sleeping in their room. Leaving them to it I passed through the living room and out onto the penthouse garden.

I didn't need to look over the side to know that the rest of Metropolis was waking up. I could hear the clamor of traffic from the streets below. Though awake didn't necessary mean functioning properly; sirens told me that there had already been at least one traffic accident.

I just stood there for a moment, savoring the relative peace and quiet high above the streets. And then, gathering my legs under me, I leaped up into the sky. My initial bound took me up more than five hundred feet before I kicked in my flight powers to continue taking me up higher. Not for the first time, I exulted in the ability to defy gravity, not stuck on the ground like the poor commuters far below.

Like I would have been, if not for the results of Dr. Mendenhall's project that had killed Supergirl and transferred her powers to me, transforming me into a true superior girl.

In no time at all I was well above the tallest buildings in Metropolis. I started to fly one leisurely circuit around the city and then slowed down as I passed over the harbor, remembering the fun I'd had here last night.

Spotting a harbor police launch cruising the harbor, I'd amused myself by buzzing it several times at high speed. Flying so fast that the men couldn't see me, my rapid flight had generated enough turbulence to make the boat rock. My final pass had been so close and so fast that the turbulence had actually flipped the launch over, capsizing it and dunking the three men onboard into the cold water of the harbor.

Apparently the three cops I'd dunked into the drink had been picked up already, for I saw no sign of them. They were probably in some hospital, drying out and warming up, trying to explain what had happened to their launch. The launch, however, still bobbed in the water, capsized and looking like a giant turtle, but they had attached tow ropes and a tugboat was towing it back to shore.

Hold it, guys! Not so fast! Stopping to hover, I looked down at the scene as I considered what to do next.

My first inclination was to swoop down and give the tugboat the same treatment I'd given the police launch. But the tug was a squat craft, designed for strength and stability whereas the launch had been designed for speed and maneuverability. It would be much harder to capsize. Why, I might even have to actually lay a hand on it!

I decided on a simpler course of action. As I continued to look down while holding myself motionless in the air, I narrowed my eyes. Two beams of intense heat shot out of my eyes and converged on one of the tow ropes. In less than half a second a small column of steam shot up out of the harbor as the beams sawed through the rope and hit the water. Another half a second, and the other tow rope was also history.

By the time the guys on the tug realized they were no longer towing anything more than two lengths of rope, the steam had dissipated, leaving no clue as to what had happened. I certainly wasn't going to enlighten them. Leave that as another mystery for them, like the sudden turbulence that had caused the police launch to capsize and dunk the men into the drink. Severed tow ropes wouldn't cause them as much trouble as a capsized tugboat, but it would still be a hassle.

A hassle for them, of course, not for a superior girl like me.

As the tug started to turn around, I also turned, flying another lazy circuit around the harbor before pointing myself west and up. Cape billowing behind me, I flew back over the city, climbing higher and higher. A light flex of my calves got me past the sound barrier once I was high enough that the sonic boom shouldn't have broken too many suburban windows down below.

In no time at all I was past the seaboard, leaving the Atlantic behind me as I headed for the interior of the continent.

I continued to accelerate further and climb higher, quickly crossing the folded heights of the Appalachians. The broad ribbon of the Mississippi passed by below, and I was over the Great Plains. As the snow-capped peaks of the Rockies rose into sight over the horizon, I began my descent, decelerating slightly as I lost altitude, scanning the landscape ahead of me with my telescopic vision for familiar landmarks.

But what was the hurry? Even though I wasn't going at anything near my full speed, I still had plenty of time, and despite my nap I was still wound up from my nocturnal fun over Metropolis harbor. And this morning's final prank had only added to it. Pulling up and veering to the right, I headed for the higher peaks of Colorado. Or maybe Wyoming. Borders don't mean much up here, especially not to a superior girl.

Some of these peaks tower more than fourteen thousand feet above sea level. There's always some snow up here. In a few places, the permanent snow has actually formed glaciers, though of course nothing like the gigantic sheet of ice that once covered half of this continent and connected Alaska to Siberia. Descending toward the peaks, I aimed myself straight at one overhanging cornice about the size of a railway car. But just before I hit, I decided that flying through snow would be too easy. I changed course slightly to pass directly below the overhang.

The shock wave from my flight was too much for the snow, just as it had been too much for the police launch in the harbor last night. The cornice broke off and snow avalanched down into the valley below.

It wasn't much of an avalanche since there wasn't all that much snow and there was nowhere for it to go. It was just a bunch of snow falling into the valley below. But I wasn't done with it just yet. Climbing almost vertically, I turned around and dived straight down at the resulting snow pile, flexing my thighs for more speed, accelerating faster and faster. Then, just before I hit, I pulled up sharply and, reversing direction, rose vertically.

The shock wave of my flight continued straight down and hit the ground like a cannon. A column of snow fountained up more than a hundred feet up into the air in my wake.

Climbing high, I again reversed direction and repeated the process, putting on even more speed than the first time and flying closer to the snow before pulling up. More snow fountained into the sky, the column rising up nearly two hundred feet this time. Then, while the snow was still falling, I made a third dive.

This time, when I pulled up from my dive I halted myself just above the ledge where the cornice had originally hung. The snow fountained up high over my head and then fell.

Just hovering, I let the snow sprinkle down around me. Of course, the cold didn't bother me, no more than the heat of the friction had bothered me. If anything, the falling snow felt good after my rapid flight.

Eventually, the artificial snowstorm ended and the air around me cleared up. That was when I realized that I wasn't alone up here.

Of course, I had already known I wasn't the only person flying through the skies above North America, though I was probably the only one doing it under his or her own power, unless Superman was doing his Boy Scout thing, rescuing a kitten from a tree or some such thing. For such a short trip I hadn't bothered going suborbital, but I had still flown well above the altitude commercial airliners can reach, heights rarely used even by military aircraft. Even then my keen senses had detected the faint trails left by jet engines far below, allowing me to steer well clear of them. Of course, now I was practically down on the ground and the planes were flying well above me, leaving behind thin white contrails from the condensation of the exhaust. But this one was different.

This one was a thick trail of dark smoke, possibly thick enough and dark enough for even ordinary eyes to see from the ground. Not the kind of trail normally left by an airplane. Curious, I climbed up higher for a closer look.

I didn't have to get too close before my nostrils picked up the whiff of something on fire. More than just the fuel burned by an engine. Something was on fire, and that something could only be an airplane of some kind. And an airplane on fire was a problem. You can't just pull an airplane off a road and stop like you can a truck.

But which way had the burning airplane gone? Pulling back, I looked at the trail. It was going down from north to south. Figuring that the pilot would be descending, I turned south, scanning the skies ahead of me with my telescopic vision as I started to follow the trail.

And there it was, the morning sun glinting off a jet. A commercial airliner, a four-engine jumbo jet, a 747. The smoke was coming from the outboard engine on the left wing. Flexing my thighs for more speed, I quickly caught up to the stricken craft.

There was no one else around. I knew that you can't just park an airplane and wait for a tow truck --- or a fire engine --- but I'd half expected the Air Force to have responded by now. I could understand the air traffic controllers steering other commercial traffic away, but I would have thought the boys in blue would have sent a couple of their fighters up here to look things over. But no, a quick look around with my telescopic vision told me it was just lil' ol' me and the burning 747.

Slowing down to match its pace, I circled the 747, checking it out. Even with one engine out, the big jet seemed to be okay, the other three engines apparently providing more than enough thrust. Nonetheless, it was slowly losing altitude, presumably heading for the nearest airport big enough to handle it. Out here over the Rockies, I figured it would probably be Denver.

At my speed, the trip would take no time at all. But then, I don't have to worry about my engines catching on fire. For an airliner, the situation was somewhat different. Still, with three engines, it shouldn't be a major problem. I was about to turn away and resume my own flight to New Mexico when the fire spread to the inboard engine. The big plane shuddered and yawed before the pilot adjusted trim to compensate for the further lost of thrust on his left side.

Dunking a bunch of harbor cops into the cold water of Metropolis harbor was one thing. They were cops, after all. A jumbo jet in trouble was something else entirely. There were hundreds of innocent people on board, families with children. I couldn't just stand by and watch them crash into a mountain. Diving under the plane, I came up under the left wing between the two burning engines. Pursing my lips, I sent a stream of air at the outboard engine.

Even though the giant plane rocked from the force of my gentle puff, the fire didn't go out. Maybe the air was just too thin up here. Though as the jet was already doing five hundred miles per hour, I supposed another gust of wind wouldn't make much difference to the fire. Whatever the reason, it was obvious I was going to have to think of some other way to put out the fires.

Blowing air at the fire hadn't done any good. What about keeping the air from getting to the fire? Without air --- at least without oxygen --- a fire can't burn. So, how do I keep the oxygen from getting to the fire? I have tremendous lung capacity, of course, but I didn't think even I could suck out enough air for long enough to extinguish the fire. And it wasn't as if I could fly inside the engine and smother the fire with my cape, not without destroying the engine in the process, which would kind of defeat the purpose of the whole exercise. After all, if all I wanted to do was to disable an engine, it would be a lot simpler to just rip it off the wing.

So I couldn't suck out the air, nor could I smother the flames with my cape. But maybe there was something I could do with my lungs and cape anyway. Taking off the cape, I flew to the front of the inboard engine.

It was a bit of a struggle as the turbines tried to suck the cape in, but I eventually managed to get it stretched out over the front of the engine. I did have to use my fingers to mangle the metal cowling in order to get it stay, though. I figured the insurance company would much rather pay for a new cowling than for a whole new engine. Or more.

That wasn't enough to put out the fire, unfortunately. Too much air leaking in around the edges. Still, it was a start. Leaving the cape there, I moved around to the back of the engine and positioned myself just below the exhaust. Emptying my lungs of air, I rose up into the stream of hot exhaust and inhaled sharply.

The stuff tasted awful, but I kept inhaling, sucking in as much air as my lungs could hold. Finally, when I thought my lungs would burst, the fire went out. Tilting back my head, I emptied my lungs as fast as I could, letting the stream of air force me down as I tried to get rid of the taste.

But I wasn't done yet. I'd put out one fire but there was another one still burning. Climbing, I quickly caught up to the jet again, positioning myself at the front of the inboard engine and tearing my cape free, knocking off a couple of chunks of aluminum in the process. Moving along the wing, I then attached the cape to the front of the outboard engine, again mangling the metal a little in order to keep it in place. Make that two cowlings for the insurance company to pay for. For me it was back to the rear of the engine and another inhale.

This fire was smaller, and it went out almost immediately. Emptying my lungs of the foul stuff as best I could, I flew back to the front and retrieved my cape, trying not to mangle the cowling any further.

As I started to attach the cape, I glanced over at the fuselage. The windows were lined with anxious faces, most of them peering out at me, though a few of them were viewing me through the viewfinders of cameras.

Well, let them look. Maintaining position relative to the jet, I calmly finished attaching my cape to my outfit. Once it was on, I bowed to my audience and then did a quick pirouette, making the cape swirl around me. Then, I gave my audience another quick bow and moved forward, toward the cockpit.

The flight crew was also staring at me, three faces crowded into a single window. I gave them a little bow as well and then rose higher, ready to resume my journey to New Mexico.

Except that there was another aircraft above me.

The boys in blue had finally responded, for a pair of jet fighters were now flying in formation, one above and one below the 747. As I climbed above the airliner, the fighter above moved with me, speeding up to move closer.

Well, if the men wanted a good look at me --- and my X-ray vision showed that both people in the cockpit were male --- who was I to deny it to them? I drifted closer until I was 'standing' directly beside the cockpit. Putting my hands on my hips and thrusting out my chest, I let them get an eyeful of the big red S on my front.

And I could tell that both the pilot and the navigator were getting an eyeful. An eyeful of something I was sure hadn't been covered in the flight training. Not that they'd ever seen my chest uncovered, either. It was a good thing they were in an airplane and not in a car, for there wasn't a single eye watching where they were going.

Smiling at the two men, I rose up a little higher and leveled off. Taking my hands from my hips, I spread my arms wide, mimicking the outswept wings of the fighter as I flew directly above the cockpit, the big red S on my chest nearly touching the canopy.

Four male eyes followed my every move, growing wide behind their goggles, as slowly crossed over and descended, taking up position on the other side of the cockpit, once again 'standing' in midair at six hundred miles per hour, my hands on my hips, both my cape and my hair streaming to my side, the big red S on my chest again thrust forward.

Hands still on my hips, I gave my chest a little shake, making my feminine mounds --- and four male eyeballs --- jiggle.

But as much as I enjoyed the attention I was getting from the two men, I couldn't stay here forever; I was on my way to work, after all, and I had already wasted enough time playing aerial firefighter. Raising a hand from my hip to my brow to give the men a salute, I shot forward, flexing my calves to accelerate in a way that no mere military jet fighter could ever match. So fast that by the time the men realized that I was no longer beside them, they wouldn't even be able to get a peek up my short red skirt.

Looking back over my shoulder, I realized that the men were in no condition to peek up my skirt. In order to prevent it, I'd made a little too hasty an exit. The jet had flown directly into my wake. And just as the turbulence caused by me slender body had been too much for the police launch last night, it now proved to be too much for the powerful warplane. But it hadn't flipped over as the boat had done. Instead, it had gone into a flat spin and was now more a Frisbee than a sleek jet. His wingman was miles away, still pacing the 747.

Not that he would be able to provide any assistance, other than moral support.

Having already saved one stricken jet, I wasn't about to let another one go down. After all, it was kind of my fault; if I hadn't been showing off for the two men, actually flirting with them, they wouldn't have been put into danger. I immediately turned around and went back to the fighter.

Positioning myself directly above the center of the fuselage, I began a spin of my own to match the spin of the jet. The two men inside were fighting the G forces and apparently losing, apparently unable even to eject. Quickly lowering myself to the spinning craft, I reached down and took hold, being careful not to mangle the titanium alloy too much.

Since the craft was already spinning like a Frisbee, I felt a momentary urge to give it even more of a spin. But I quickly reminded myself that I was in the middle of a rescue operation. And I knew from experience just how fragile these warplanes were. And I had even more experience just how fragile the male bodies within were. Well, not with these two in particular, but you know what I mean, with male bodies in general.

I mean, capsizing a boat and dunking the men into the harbor was one thing. But crashing a plane, and possibly the men inside, was something else. So, instead of giving the jet an additional spin, I gradually slowed my spinning until I was holding the jet suspended under me, no longer spinning, just moving forward at about three hundred miles per hour. And all of that forward velocity was due to me, for the two jet engines were out, apparently having flamed out during the spin.

The navigator craned his head and looked at me, no doubt amazed that the jet had stopped spinning, then his eyes lit up when he saw me holding the craft. I smiled back at him. Then he must have said something to the pilot, for I felt the plane lurch forward as first one engine and then the other restarted. Still keeping my hands on the plane, I sped up to keep pace.

The pilot must have felt he was back in control again, for he craned his head to look back past the navigator and gave me a thumbs up sign.

Letting go, satisfied that I hadn't left too deep a pair of handprints in the metal --- replacing a couple of panels would be a whole lot cheaper than replacing an entire plane, not to mention the two-man crew --- I continued smiling and scooted forward toward the navigator, who was still staring at me. Coming close enough, I planted a kiss on the clear canopy. The imprint of my lips on the clear canopy was caused by condensation, not by pressure.

The poor guy gave a little shudder. It wouldn't have surprised me if he had cummed in his flight suit.

With a response like that, what else could I do? Moving forward, all but crawling over the top of the canopy, I bent down and gave the pilot an upside-down smile before planting another kiss directly in front of him. Then, before he could cum and lose control of his craft again, I rose above the plane.

The other jet was still circling below, though it had come closer once I had this one under control. Bringing a hand up to my mouth, I blew the two men in the other jet a kiss of their own. Not a very big kiss, of course, not wanting to have to rescue a third jet this morning. No, this kiss was just enough to make the plane rock a little when it hit. Then I rose higher yet, this time waiting until I was well clear of the jets before putting on any real speed.

It felt really great to be a superior girl, not dependent on mere jet engines to fly. In a matter of seconds I was out of their sight, flying among the high mountain peaks.

I still had the taste of the fire and the jet exhaust in my mouth, the mere act of blowing a kiss not nearly enough to get rid of it. And I was sure my whole body smelled of jet exhaust. I needed to take a shower. I thought about climbing up higher to the clouds, but another snow shower wasn't going to do the job. I needed a good bath. Climbing slightly until I was well above the level of the highest mountain peaks, I flew on, looking down, searching for a suitable body of water.

It didn't take very long to find one, a narrow lake nestled halfway up the side of a mountain, fed by the melting snow. Changing direction, I climbed up higher and then made a dive for the water. I slowed down just before I hit, not wanting to create too big a splash like I had with the snowfield. But instead of pulling up completely, I cleaved into the crystal-clear water, still doing better than a hundred miles per hour.

The water was only a few degrees above freezing, fed as it was by melting snow. After my flight, it felt good. Pulling up before I buried myself in the mud at the bottom, I flew about halfway down, rolling a couple of times as I slowed down, gulping in water and spitting it back out, feeling more like a fish than a bird.

I reached the other end of the lake within seconds. Turning around, I retraced my path, still flying through the water, but a lot slower this time. Reaching the end where I'd gone in, I pulled up and out of the water.

As good as it had felt in the water, I much preferred to be in the air. After all, a superior girl belongs in the air flying free like a bird, not in the water swimming like a fish. A quick shake got rid of most of the water from my body; the rest would quickly come off quickly enough during the remainder of my journey to the ranch. A couple of shakes of my head got rid of most of the water in my hair.

Feeling refreshed, I didn't bother climbing higher into the sky just yet. Instead, I merely followed the little stream feeding from the lake as it snaked down the narrow valley between the high peaks. Then the valley opened up a little and there was another lake, bigger than the one in which I'd just bathed. I skimmed over this one, at one point dropping a hand and trailing it in the water, raising a roostertail across the glassy surface.

It was a good thing there was nobody out on the lake fishing, or I might have dunked them into the water as I'd done with the harbor cops back in Metropolis last night.

Reaching the end of this lake, I pulled up and rose nearly vertically, climbing above the peaks and climbing again above the altitude normally used by commercial air traffic. I'd had enough encounters with aircraft this morning, and it really was time I should be getting to work.

Circling once, I quickly got my bearings and pointed myself south.

If I didn't dally any longer, I might still get to the ranch in time for breakfast, thanks to the wonder of time zones.

Not having eaten since dinner last night, the thought of breakfast almost made my mouth water. Even though I could go days without food if I had to, I still preferred to eat three square meals a day. While Tony was a great gourmet chef who had cultivated a taste within me for fine Continental cuisine, I could also appreciate a good down-home country meal, something that fueled the body for a day's hard work. And I had to admit, I had worked up a bit of an appetite with my stunts over the Metropolis harbor and then with my rescues of the two jets. Not that they'd tired me out in the least, but a girl still needs to eat now and then.

Yes, breakfast was just what this superior girl needed.