A Prayer, Part One

by DS

There is a moment as the sun rises on the beach that the ocean looks like molten glass casting reflections from a neon sun set sharp against an azure sky. The gulls piping cries mix with the soughing of the surf. A clean breeze suffused with the astringent brace of the sea spreads among the walkers and merchants who live there. A temporary member of these is asleep in a beachfront cottage.

Should an interloper have intruded, the reward would be well worth the penalty. On a bed, placed in the middle of the living room, an eccentric but not unpleasing arrangement, was a beautiful, fascinating creature. With sheets kicked off and pillows knocked to the floor, one’s attention was drawn to the firm globes of her ass that perched, on their own, so invitingly in the air. The skin, a golden brown, showed no tan lines. Long legs, graceful of line, tapered into delicate ankles and dainty feet.

Further inspection would find the ever-so-delightful posterior swooped in to form a narrow waist. That waist flared up to form a back and shoulders that rounded and padded with muscle. One would pause at the hair. That gorgeous, thick, golden-white mane that spread fan-like half way down her back. The silky texture of those tresses could almost be touched by the eye.

Careful, not to disturb, the interloper would stoop to see the face. He would see eye brows, surprisingly dark, forever arched into sensual invitation. Long lashes lent an air of demureness. Cheekbones, high and wide, were balanced against the delicacy of an exquisite up-turned nose. A delicate chin framed the display of a pair of soft lips parted just-so-much, giving a hint of dazzling white teeth. The hands, long and artistic, were gathered under her in an act of huddling. One was draped across her breast. The other lay between her cheek and the bed, looking all the world like an attempt at self-comfort.

Our interloper would have seen no more. Kara’s eyes fluttered open slowly. When open, all other features, however beauteous, would recede. Those eyes, large and wide, shone blue. A blue that produced more light than they received. They positively glowed, as if back-lit, with sharpness and power. Raw physical power that punched holes through walls. The glory of appearance was enhanced even more by this hint of the unearthly force that lay at her beck and call.

She arched her head up and smoothed down an errant hank of her lustrous hair. Propped on her elbows, she looked around. Then looked far off to some internal place. A naughty little laugh came from remembering a dream of Kal-El. Her tummy sent her a reminder of what time it was.

Kara turned on her side to the moving painting Nature had composed that morning. Her breasts jutted up, high and heavy, defying gravity. The circular dark areola contrasted with the pink of nipples that shone like beacons.

Her belly was muscular showing that vertical furrow of tightness. It flowed out into the shapely hips. Nestled between them was triangle of hair that was as spun golden as that on her head. The contrast to the cinnamon hue of her skin made it more startling.

Kara bounded off the bed to the kitchen-area. Almost there, a little internal reminder sent her back to the bed-area. She was soon ransacking a pile of clothes and found a pale green silk robe. I never will get used to this taboo on nudity, she thought.

As she looked up from tying the sash, Kara saw the silhouette of someone on the balcony. She focused eyes that could see with crystal clarity for hundreds of miles but the image insisted on remaining a blur. It appeared to be a man wearing a trench coat. His hair seemed blond and scruffy. He made a gesture toward his mouth. Kara heard the sounds of a quick inhale and slow exhale as if he was smoking a cigarette. In an accent she couldn’t quite place, he said, "My, aren’t you a brilliant bird!" She took a step forward and he vanished.


Part Two

Kara hastened onto the balcony. Using every sense at her disposal, the
beach was scanned. Nothing. Her vision probed above, below and behind the
cottage. No prints in the sand or bent vegetation. Not even a heat

She experienced hallucinations before. But only in the heat of battle not
just waking up. Kara took stock. All the same. No urges seemed out of
ordinary. The making of breakfast quited her anxienty. After the last of
the orange juice, Kara called her answering service.

One of the messages was from London, England. The House of Chanel wanted
her to model their fall line. Kara thanked the operator and mused for a
bit. His accent did sound somewhat british but not quite. I haven't been to
London itself yet. Maybe this is an opportunity to play tourist and

Kara tidied up because it wasn't her place. A most grateful photographer
had scored a last minute big sale because Kara had posed in some of his
shots. He wanted to be generous with her fee but it was tough because Kara
had very little use for money. But she did have a use for privacy. The
photographer had rented the cottage in his name, handled all the paperwork
and just kept her name completely out of it.
Thus she was able to come and go as she pleased ( through a sky-light in
the roof ). In return, she gave him first dibs on her services. Don was
italian, tall with a face that Michelangelo could have used for his statue
of David.

Kara thought that Don was much better built than David.

She slipped on her blue, red and gold uniform. Walking around clothes, she
put in an aerodynamically designed back pack. Built of titanium, it was a
gift of the U.S. government after she took a pony nuke away from some
over-aggressive Serbians. Closing the sky-light, she shot straight up in
the air.

Going to the uppper most reaches of the atmosphere still was thrilling yet
practical. It was the only real way to see where to go. It was also fun.
The only bad experience she had was the tounge-lashing she got from Kal-El
and, later, Bruce when she "mooned" a French satellite. The pictures
boosted the circulation of Paris Match. However, the French government was
strangely silent. ( One official was quoted, "This woman is what Bardot
should have been. One word of condemnation and I would be voted out of

Kara found the green and gray British Isles. She swooped in low to Heathrow
Airport. Finding a convenient spot to change, she then slipped into a
planeful of passengers disembarking from the U.S.. By the time she got to
Customs, she was just a knock-out beautiful woman carrying a metallic
backpack. Kara politely refused the matron at customs to open her pack.
Soon a uniformed man with a kindly face approached. "What seems tah be the
problem here?", he asked.

Kara smiled and caused the man's own smile to involuntarily broaden. She
explained, "Your government instructed me to not open my pack, just to show
you my passport.". With that, she presented it to the man. "Milly?", he
asked the matron,"Run this through the system,please.". Milly did and soon
had a puzzled look on her face. "Chief, you had better look at this.",
Milly said. Chief looked a little exasperated. He looked and went, "Good
GOD!!". The passport was quickly handed back. He tipped his hat and
said,"Her Majesty's Government is very sorry for the delays. You are very
free to go.". Kara graciously thanked him. She was grateful for Kal-El's
suggestion that the British and French governments grant her special
diplomatic status. It was to show their gratitude for her single-handed
dealing with a collapse of the English Channel Tunnel. That was one that
didn't make the papers.

She secured some funds from the banking arm of Wayne Enterprises. Bruce's
help in this wasn't just from gratitude. It was also a gesture of respect
from one warrior to another. Most of the time, Kara was the recipient of
numerous crushes. This time, it was she who had a hopeless, desperate one.
The irony was he had no powers but his determination that didn't need any.

Walking to the curbside, Kara hailed one of those boxy London cabs. As she
got in, there was a pair of eyes on her. Feeling this, Kara looked around
and there he was. No bluriness this time. Scruffy-looking indeed.
Blond-haired. Trench Coat. Cigarette dangling from an insolent smile on his
rather handsome face. He mouthed something at her. Kara could lip-read.

"Shagged any bats lately, love?"

Then he was gone again.