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From: Imagineer <imagin8r47@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cruel Summer 16 {Imagineer} (nosex ScFi)
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Date: Sun, 11 Apr 2004 17:10:04 -0400
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Cruel Summer

copyright 2001-2004 by Imagineer.

comments to 
imagineer 47: yahoo green eggs com ham
but without the green eggs or ham

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Imagineer/www/


// 16: Routine


  "Mom, that's the doorbell! He's early!"
  "Relax. You finish getting ready."

  "Oh, hello Ms. Barrett."
  "Call me Gladys. I'm sure it's no surprise to you that Angela isn't
ready. She's only been buzzing about for the last two hours."
  "I heard that, mom!" Angela called down the hallway from her bedroom.
  "Come in, Rick. Let me get you something to drink."


  It wasn't a date, exactly. At least that's what Angela tried to tell
herself. Well, it was a date, but it wasn't a *date*. Ricky was a
friend, and almost two years younger than her. And she owed him dinner
for fixing her computer. But still, it had been so long since Angela
had been out with anyone at all much less a member of the opposite sex
that she couldn't help but feel a nervous excitement.

  It almost made her feel normal.


  "...so it's still early, but at this point I'm thinking about a major
in marketing and a minor in art," Ricky finished.
  "Okay, I'm ready," Angela announced as she stepped into the living
room.
  "Wow," slipped Rick.

  Angela had worked very hard at not looking like she'd worked hard on
her appearance. A simple lavendar georgette-over-satin dress with
spaghetti shoulder straps and a hem just below the knee (her boss had
helped her with it), strappy sandals dyed to match, hair in a ponytail
under a summery hat, light makeup (with maybe a little too much
mascara, she told herself), and icy-pink lipstick. She was the perfect
version of a girl dashing off to a picnic for two.

  Gladys knew her daughter much better than she let on, but sometimes
the elder Ms. Barrett could still be surprised at what a beautiful
young woman Angela had become. The blossoming teen reminded Gladys so
much of herself at that age.
  "Wow, honey, you look prettier than I ever did."
  "Oh, mom, cut it out," Angela said, blushing.
  "I don't know, Ms. Barrett," Rick piped in, "from here it's a tough
call. Angela, I just might have to ask your sister here out next week."
Rick winked at Angela's mom.
  "Watch yourself with this one, Angela," Gladys blushed, "he's quite
the smooth talker."
  "Sure, mom."
  "Honey, are you sure you won't be cold? It'll be dark out when you
come back."
  "Oh, right." Angela disappeared for a moment, returning with a
georgette wrap draped over her shoulders. "Okay, the reservation is for
7:30, so we've gotta go." She opened the front door and stood, looking
back at her mom and her date for the evening, really noticing Ricky for
the first time. Classy but casual loafers, clean pressed Dockers, white
buttoned shirt with a contemporary cut, and a black leather jacket
tossed casually over one shoulder. As he walked past her she brushed up
against the leather -- soft as a baby's butt, she giggled. This boy
knows how to dress.


  Angela smiled at Ricky as he took another bite of his cheesecake.
  "What?" he asked, covering his mouth as he spoke.
  "Nothing," Angela blushed.
  "What?" he repeated, arching an eyebrow in the cutest way.
  "That's so cute when you do that."
  "What?"
  "That look."
  "What look?"
  "You did it again. With the eyebrow."
  Ricky put his hand up to his eyebrow self-consciously. "That's not
what you were thinking."
  "It's just that I know this place is no big deal or anything-"
  "Black Angus? It's great," Ricky interrupted.
  "I'm glad you like it. I just mean it's not the fancy French
restaurant I dreamed about-"
  "I'm sorry, if I'd known-"
  "No, no, this is fine. That's what I mean. It's really great. Because
of the company." Angela reached across the table and squeezed Ricky's
hand. She looked into Ricky's eyes and smiled. Now it was his turn to
blush.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Angela fingered the scrunchie around her wrist. It was another slow
day at the fabric store and she still had an hour to go. She'd already
tidied up all the bolts, refaced the button aisle, sharpened all the
shears, inventoried the ribbon. She'd even lettered a new "Synthetic
Silken Microfiber - 50% off" sign. When it went to clearance she just
might buy the bolt of black, or maybe the royal blue. Maybe it would
hold up better than the five lycra-mesh bodysuits she'd burned through.
After a three day recovery from the Josh ordeal, Angela had gone back
to nightly patrols -- partly to stave off boredom, partly to remind
herself why she'd put herself through Josh's torture, and partly to
protect herself from whoever came looking for the sapphires. Wherever
they'd come from, they probably wouldn't mess with her when she was
"armed." 

  And to that end she'd fashioned the black velvet scrunchies on her
wrists, the velvet bandana hair wrap, and the velvet bands over her
shoe straps. The sound of releasing velcro marked Angela's fifth "test"
in the last ten minutes. Angela noted with satisfaction that, once
again, the scrunchie pulled free, exposing the sapphire dangling from a
slim metal bracelet. No matter what happened, Angela could be powered
up with her tiara and all four gemstones in two seconds, without having
to walk around flaunting ostentatious jewelry (or risk it discharging
prematurely -- she reasoned that if she didn't feel the gems' power
when they were covered, they probably weren't burning any of their
energy). This latest velcro test momentarily subdued her anxiety. She
reattached the scrunchie meticulously and resumed fidgeting with it as
she looked out the front windows to the parking lot, monitoring the
strip mall's comings and goings.

  Angela's fingers traced carefully over the soft velvet scrunchie
wristbands on her dresser. She'd made them six days earlier -- the
morning after being released from the humiliating ordeal with her very
ex-boyfriend Josh. They covered her wrist sapphires. Angela looked down
at the foot of her bed; though she couldn't see them, she knew her
sapphire shoes were there, the velvet-top, plastic-bottom bands she'd
fashioned covering the sapphire-topped straps. With this camouflage
(and the focusing crown hidden in the lining of her purse) she could
have her gems with her at all times. A quick tug on each piece and
velcro let go to expose the mysterious power that was her only defense
against whoever came looking for her.

  She wasn't paranoid, exactly; just... prepared.

  Last night's dinner had been a brief island of calm for the stressed
girl. Scott (if it was him at all; if that was even his real name) had
sent her daily emails alternately apologizing, begging her to chat,
warning her of danger, and pressuring her to give him the whereabouts
of the sapphires. It was like he was more than one person, none of them
much like the man she'd fallen for, and it was freaking her out.

  And there was The Article. She wished she could somehow buy up every
copy, though she knew it was too late for that. She tried to tell
herself that nobody believed any of the junk they published in the
World News Weekly, but the deadly-serious look on the face of that
woman in the checkout line that morning had said otherwise.

  Angela pulled the tabloid out from its hiding place under the
inventory clipboard. She stared at the cover again, though by now she
had it memorized:

  GOD SENDS ANGEL TO SAVE QUICK MART
  Convenience Store Angel Stops Bullets, Beats Up Would-Be Thieves
  Witness stores and PHOTO PAGE FOUR!

  She'd panicked when she'd seen it there in the Express Lane at
Chuckers Supermarket. Surely someone would recognize her and point her
out right there, trapped between Smelly Sweatpants Buying Family-Size
Fat-Free Pastries and Angry Veteran With Lowenbrau. But it didn't
happen, not even as she grabbed her own copy. Once she realized the
photo didn't reveal her face she breathed a bit easier, until she
realized that whoever Scott was trying to warn her about would surely
see it and start nosing around the QuickMart and the neighborhood and
it was only a matter of time before someone put two and two together...

  Angela shook her head as if to chase the anxious thoughts away. Her
fingers resumed playing with a wrist scrunchie.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Angela's phone rang. "Hi, Ricky! What's up?" Talking with Ricky would
take her mind off her troubles.
  "I wanted to thank you again for the wonderful dinner last night."
  "Don't be silly. It was my pleasure. I should have you fix my
computer more often." Was she flirting with him?
  "So are you free Tuesday?"
  It caught her by surprise -- especially since she'd already made
another date with him for Monday night, just two days away. "U-um, I-,
m-maybe, I don't know, I might have to work. Why?"
  "I was wondering if you could help me."
  "I don't know but I'll try. What's up?"
  "I've been trying to work out a new style, and I'm having trouble. My
stuff looks too much like classic-era art, and I don't like it. Since I
started drawing Sapphire I've been doing softer, smoother forms, but
now the proportions aren't looking right. I need a model."
  Oh. THAT wasn't what she expected. Images of the time she'd
accidentally flashed him flooded her mind. He wasn't asking HER to
model, was he? "Why don't you use pictures from the Internet or a
Victoria's Secret catalog?"
  "I've been doing that. Something's not right. I can't put my finger
on it."
  "So hire a model."
  "I can't afford that."
  "Can't one of your friends from school do that?"
  "I'm afraid to ask. They'll think I'm trying to get into their pants
or something."
  "Aren't you?"
  "You know I'm very serious about my art. I'm not going to risk
fucking it up just to get laid."
  She hadn't heard him speak so frankly before. "So..."
  "So I'm asking you."
  "You're asking me what?"
  "To model for me. I know I can trust you."
  That was weird, Angela thought. Shouldn't she be the one thinking
about trusting him? But she knew she could. He might be a
sixteen-year-old horndog but he *was* serious about his art. But posing
for drawings of Sapphire was just too close for comfort. What if he
figured it out?
  "I know, Ricky, it's just that... I've never done anything like that
before, and... it's kind of weird. Even with you." Especially with you.
"And I don't think it's right for me to be posing as Sapphire. I don't
think she'd appreciate it." One of these days she was going to forget
to think of Sapphire in the third person.
  "Well I didn't think the great and mysterious Sapphire would agree to
pose for me."
  "I'm not even sure she likes the idea of you drawing her."
  "You told her?" then "Why not?"
  "I don't think she wants to be famous. She wants to keep a low
profile." She doesn't want anyone to find her. She doesn't want you to
figure out her identity. She can't believe you haven't already.
  "It's not like I'm publishing a comic book."
  "Yet. You might someday."
  "Look, Angela, if Sapphire wants to keep a low profile that's fine,
but she's going to have a hard time doing it if she keeps flying around
and showing off her telekenesis." Angela had heard that word before;
duh, so that's what it's called. Why didn't I make that connection?
  "She's doing it protecting you and Jimmy."
  "I bet that's not the only time she's done it. Did you see the World
News Weekly?"
  Angela was silent with shock. This wasn't good. So much for 'nobody
reads that junk.'
  Ricky took Angela's silence to be waiting for an answer to an obvious
question. "My Dad gets the World News Weekly when he buys groceries.
Don't ask why."
  "Why?"
  "You're not supposed to ask. Anyway, there's an article inside on the
Guardian Angel of Oak Valley. With a photo, though it's so blurry and
doctored you can't really see anything. Still, if Sapphire wants to
keep a low profile I don't think my drawings are going to be the thing
that blows her cover."
  "Okay, fine, whatever. I can't believe I'm talking to you about this."
  "Well she's supposedly your friend, who nobody else has ever really
met. Well, Jimmy did but when a girl appears out of nowhere and
disappears just as fast, that's not exactly normal circumstances."
  Angela had to stop talking to Ricky about Sapphire; she was just
asking for trouble. "She likes to keep a low profile. I haven't even
heard from her in days. I talk to you more *about* her than I talk to
her. I just don't want to do anything to make her mad."
  "You got that right," Ricky said; she could practically hear his
grin. "So don't tell her. She doesn't need to know. These panels are
just for me, anyway. They're... personal. They're practice."
  "Well I still don't know about you staring at me for hours. Or using
me as a model. You're NOT going to see me naked!"
  That might actually be distracting. "Oh, no, no! Just wear something
tight."
  "Excuse me?!"
  "I mean close-fitting, not baggy. Do you have workout clothes, like a
leotard?"
  "Nobody's ever seen me in that."
  "What'd you wear to P.E. class?"
  "The baggiest shorts and biggest T-shirt I could find."
  "From what you're wearing when you come over here I had no idea you
were so modest."
  "What's that supposed to mean?" Angela was offended. Did he think she
dressed like a slut?
  "Just that the way you dress now is... cute. Not sexy."
  "Not sexy?" Angela was modest, but she was still a girl.
  Ricky was digging himself a hole and he knew it. Girls were so
complicated! "Well, yeah, of course, just not... I mean, good-sexy,
not, um, slutty."
  "I better not be!" Angela said indignantly. As if her own appearance
and behavior had nothing to do with it.
  "Relax, you're not. You're very stylish. And very pretty."
  Ricky could practically hear Angela's eyelids flutter.
  "Now you're just kissing ass, Ricky."
  The graphic image flashed briefly in his mind; he smiled, then shook
it out of his head. This was Angela, his friend. He shouldn't think
like that.
  "So will you do it? Will you pose for me?"
  "What kind of poses?"
  "Just basic stuff. Nothing embarassing, don't worry. I'm not drawing
a fetish comic. I just need a real person to look at as I work out some
sketches and get a good working map of Sapphire's body in my head."
  "I'm not Sapphire," Angela said, hoping to disassociate her image
from Sapphire's in Ricky head, in spite of what she was about to agree
to do. But despite her modesty, the flattery of the proposition clouded
her judgement.
  "Okay, but I don't know what Sapphire looks like exactly so I have to
start somewhere."
  "Gee, thanks."
  "That's not what I meant." God, girls were so sensitive!
  "I know, I'm just teasing. Okay, I'll do it."
  A burst of gleeful energy gushed through the phone. "That's great!
Thanks so much, I know you won't regret it. You are so great, Angela.
Really."
  "Okay, okay, stop thanking me before I change my mind."
  "Sorry, it's just that I really need this to get over this hump." Bad
choice of words. "So when can you come over?"
  "Tomorrow I work a short day, til 2. How about I come over after
that?"
  "That's great, then I can do it outside. Daylight is always better."
  Outside? That made her nervous.
  "Don't worry, we'll be in the back yard. And you won't be doing
anything that looks weird anyway. Relax."
  "Okay, Ricky. See you."


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Sapphire fluttered down effortlessly, landing in near-silence on the
roof of the state college administration building. Perched on the crest
of the hills east of the suburban sprawl that was her home, it served
as an impromptu watchtower for the young heroine.

  Not that there was anything to see.

  It was Sunday night, but that was no excuse. Every night was the
same. Crime-fighting was a boring business, long hours of patrolling
night after night, and nothing to show for it except the rescue of one
cat stuck in a tree. Sapphire was beginning to see that a
superheroine's life wasn't anything like in comic books. Big-time crime
was generally done out of sight under the guise of legitimate business.
It was better fought by fastidious technicians and scrupulous
accountants and relentless district attorneys than by superheroines.
The super-villians of comic book lore just didn't exist in the real
world. Smart guys knew there were many ways to get ahead, and none of
them consisted of wearing costumes, and the only ones that involved
spending millions on super-science formulas and mega-machines were
those underwritten by the military. 

  Sapphire was growing tired of aimless wandering about the rooftops of
her suburban world. Even small-time crime generally happened out of
sight. And when it didn't, it was random enough and spread out over
such a huge area that the odds of her finding it were worse than the
odds of winning the lottery. Oh, what she wouldn't give to land on
another holdup of a QuickMart. 

  Sure there was crime. There were even bad neighborhoods. But the
kinds of things that happened there were hardly appropriate for the
intervention of a scantily-clad superteen. Floating down into the
middle of a domestic dispute or a couple of winos wrestling over a
bottle was... awkward. Silly. Demeaning. Depressing. It seemed her
first night out had been a fluke. It seemed there was just no call for
a real superheroine.

  Sapphire bent down to adjust her shoe, retying the improvised
spaghetti strap wrapped under her arch and around her foot. They were
fine when she was airborne, but she always seemed to land on them
wrong. The ties kept coming loose. As her fingers worked the soft
string, Sapphire noticed the way her gossamer wings billowed gently
with her movements. She also noticed the way her breasts jiggled to and
fro under the stretchy fabric of her top. She felt it give slightly
under the strain; she regarded the deepening cleavage caused by the
growing tear down the front.

  The gradually-failing fabric served to remind her of the dark side of
her gems' power. The unfortunate side-effect of her Sapphire force
somehow ate away at whatever she wore, especially near her private
parts. It was bad enough that the power only worked when she was
scarcely dressed in the first place -- anything more than the most
delicate fabric damped the stones' energy to a useless feeble glow --
but the dissolving uniform was a potentially-embarassing inconvenience.

  Indeed, sometimes things seemed the other way around -- that her
Sapphire force was a side-effect of the gems' real purpose: to force a
young girl to expose her body to the world's lustful gaze.

  Her top wouldn't last much longer. It was time to head home. Another
wasted night. Perhaps tonight she could at least manage to get home and
get to bed without... doing *that*. Sapphire's cheeks burned hot with
embarassment even as a heat of a different kind swelled within her. The
gems' appetite for outfits was nothing compared to the other appetite
it inflamed. The longer she stayed out on patrol the worse it seemed to
get. She knew it was the gems doing it somehow, but... well, it didn't
seem to hurt anything, exactly, as long as she got home. She told
herself it was just the price she had to pay for the privilege of
serving the public, but a part of her wondered if she wasn't enjoying
the "sacrifice" just a little too much -- if maybe the patrols were
just an excuse to feel the fire the gems lit within her. If only the
feelings didn't come with such... unsettling thoughts. If in reality
Sapphire was powerful, ever vigilant in her readiness to defend the
innocent against evildoers, in her fantasies she was helpless,
defeated, a fragile nymph teetering on the edge of succumbing to the
dark desires of dastardly, dangerous men.

  Sapphire caught her fingers lingering on the arch of her foot,
grazing it gently in a way that sent chills up her spine. No, not here.
She had to get control. She had to get home. She stood up, running down
a quick check of her "equipment" to make sure it would survive the
journey home. Her shoes were intact, as were the wristbands and choker
that secured her "wings." The gems on her wrists were secure as always,
and the tiara nestled tightly in her flowing dark hair. She smoothed
the skirt, a simple short silk wraparound; it seemed fine, and might
even see a second use. Her hands cupped her breasts, ostensibly to make
sure they wouldn't spill out of her top. Why couldn't she find any
action? Oh well, maybe tomorrow night . . .

  As a preoccupied Sapphire took to the sky, she hardly noticed the
side of her string bikini panty snap. The garment slid down her smooth
legs and floated down to the street below, the only evidence of the
young girl's watch.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  He'd been parked there for nearly two hours. From this corner spot,
he could see down the street toward the development's main entrance
through the back window of the rented van; out the side window he
looked over the corner lot's brown crabgrass lawn to the
worn-but-cheery house across the street and two doors down. 

  The house where She lived.

  He was taking a huge risk being here. But he couldn't just leave her
hanging. She wasn't like the others. There was something about her. It
had surely contributed to him choosing her then, as much as it
contributed to him regretting that choice now.

  A car approached. Nine fourteen PM. This was the fourteenth car in
the last two hours. He raised his binoculars and held his breath. A
light-colored late-model Mercury Grand Marquis -- a favorite among
septegenarians, Big and Tall rental customers, and law enforcement
officers and agents of every type. This was the third
suspicious-looking car, after the blacked-out Porsche Turbo that had
circled the block twice before going out the way he came in at 8:15pm,
and the older Mustang that had done the same thing at 8:35. The
streetlight before the corner gave him a brief moment to scan the two
occupants before they reached the intersection. The binoculars surveyed
the driver first. Teenage Male, White or possibly Asian. The passenger
looked female -- his heart skipped a beat -- but he couldn't quite get
focused on her before they moved out of the streetlight's illumination
and their headlights glared at him.

  The car paused at the intersection, signaled left, paused some more,
then swung into a lazy left turn and proceeded at well below the speed
limit. The car pulled into Her driveway. His heart beat faster.

  The streetlight across the street combined with the security light
above the garage next door gave everything a pale orange glow but
otherwise made seeing easy. The driver got out first, hustling around
to the passenger side to open the door. What a young gentleman. He was
of slight build, maybe 5'7" tall, short dark hair. The passenger
stepped out. Hair up, slim yet curvy, definitely a woman. About the
same height as her escort, who directed her with a flourish of his arm
toward the front door of the house. It wasn't until they got around the
car that he could see all of her. It took him a moment to frame her in
the binoculars, seeing first that she was smartly attired in a
form-fitting black dress before finding her face.

  "My God." His heart skipped a beat. "She's even more beautiful in
person."

   


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