I really don't know that much about who I am. The information globe I found, and lost, told me a few things - my name, the name of my home planet - but so much else is still a mystery. Am I the only one of my people to survive? Did/do all my people possess these powers? Why did my parents send me away? How is it that I look so human?

It's this last question that preys on my mind. How close to human am I?

I live on a human world, blending in to human society. The people who found me, who acted as parents to this foundling from the sky, raised me as human. Sometimes I even feel human, mostly when Jimmy's just finished with me.

But other times, other times I wonder.

Because when you get right down to it... I'm Not.

So occasionally Jimmy will find me, naked, standing before the big mirror in my bedroom. He'll laugh and call me 'vain', or accuse me of 'posing'. If I'm really lucky he'll sidle up behind me and suggest that I spend more time naked, and start running his hands over my body, and then we're off for the next couple of hours.

Oh God, simply being touched, especially by him... He knows exactly how to drive me wild, where to be gentle and where to be rough, when to kiss and when to bite.

Sometimes I just watch him. Sitting in a staff meeting, at his desk, lying on the couch watching TV. Whenever he passes through the news room, no matter what I'm doing, I look up. If he catches my eye as he passes, and he usually does, I get this strange sensation. It's a twisting sort of feeling, deep in my chest. Not pain, not exactly, but not pleasure either. More like an empty space inside me that's precisely the same shape as this boy, and he's slowly filling that space up with himself. I have to look away, to focus on my computer, or the sound of Lois' voice, for fear I'll burst into song, or just plain burst, with the joy of him.

He has this look, this one expression that I can't quite figure out. He gets it at the oddest times, when we're sitting down to dinner, or when I open my eyes in the morning and catch him watching me sleep. It's half 'hungry little boy staring through the candy shop window', and half this sort of shocked surprise, like he's woken up in Tijuana with a tattoo, a wedding ring and a hangover and no clear recollection of when he acquired any of the three.

That look cuts me to the core, slicing right through the layers of disinterest I've built around my heart to protect myself from wanting all the things I thought I'd never have. I want to reach out to him, to offer that hungry boy the sustenance he's yearning for, to give the explanation of how we ended up here together. But I have nothing to feed myself, let alone him, and no clue as to how we came to this place or where we're going.

What was I talking about? Oh, right, the mirror thing. Sorry, I got a little side-tracked. Funny how often that happens when I start thinking about Jimmy.

What I'm really doing in front of the mirror is watching for changes. Inspecting the goods, so to speak, looking for the maker's mark, for indications of forgery. There should be some outward sign, some stigmata or blemish that reflects my inner differences.

But to the naked eye, I look human. Same basic layout, same outer appearance. It's the hidden things that worry me. Some of my powers are easy to understand; super strength and speed are just functions of a muscular structure that evolved for a high gravity planet. Enhanced senses are just responding to a wider range of stimulus. But others..

Why can I fly?

I don't know how I do it, I just.. fly. I think 'up', and away I go.

Or the 'Tinker-Bell Effect'. That's what Jimmy calls it, much to my annoyance. It's the field my body generates that protects my clothing, that makes me invulnerable. It extends about a centimeter out from my skin, and nothing can get through it, nothing can touch me unless I let it. Kirilian aura? Conscious control over my magnetic and/or electric fields? Some sort of Tesla effect? Then there's the heat vision. Organic infrared lasers?

I don't know.

I don't know this, and so many other things, and that really bothers me.

I'm always afraid that people can tell, can look at me and immediately see that I'm not normal, not human. I hide behind those dorky glasses and oversized suits, but if Jimmy can penetrate my 'disguise' so easily, who else might be able to? How many others know I'm an impostor? Who is just playing along while secretly...

These are the things I'm thinking about when Jimmy finds me in front of the mirror.

On especially bad days I wonder what else about me might be different from humans. Do I feel things the same way they do? When someone tells a joke, and everyone laughs, are they laughing at the same thing I am? When someone smiles and says 'Pleased to meet you' what are they really feeling? Is it the same thing I feel when I say it back?

Can they tell I'm just going through the motions, just aping the 'correct' behavior for the situation?

Sometimes I imagine I'm three different people.

There's Clark, who was born and raised in Smallville. His parents are farmers, good people who love the land. They taught him to love it as well, and to respect the people around him. He's a reporter, curious and intelligent, who likes to travel and cook exotic dishes and read obscure poets.

Then there's Kal-El. For a long time he didn't even have a name, until we found that globe. He grew up parallel to Clark, but in secret. He's the one who discovered he could fly when he fell out of a tree by accident, but didn't hit the ground. He's the one who learned how fragile earth creatures are, and just how easy they are to... break. He's quiet and hides in the dark, and nobody is supposed to know he even exists.

And now there's Superman. He's the hero, the one the public wants to see, wants to get a piece of. He's the one they look to for protection, for guidance and some even for salvation. He's strong, and he smiles a lot, and he's always right.

I try on different expressions, is this a 'Clark' look, or is Kal-El finally making himself known? I practice Superman's confident demeanor, chest out, shoulders back, a classically 'heroic' pose. Am I Kal-El, pretending to be Clark, or am I Clark who might have been Kal-El in another life? I look deep into my reflected eyes, trying to see who really lives behind them.

This is why I'm standing in front of my mirror, just staring at myself when Jimmy gets home. He leans in the bedroom doorway, grinning at my antics.

"Think we're pretty hot stuff, do we?" he asks.

I just shake my head. My eyes are still riveted to their reflections, I can't turn to look at him.

He sheds his jacket on the floor and kicks off his shoes. His progress across the room is almost a prowl, and I know how a zebra might feel when faced with a hungry lion. I guess this is one of my lucky days, because he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my chest.

His face is pressed between my shoulder blades, his breath sweet against my skin. As his fingers start drawing cool patterns over my stomach I'm finally able to break away from my own fascinated gaze.

I watch those nimble hands trace the contours of my body, softly, sweetly, leaving invisible lines of suddenly awakened nerves in their path. I start to turn, to take him in my arms, but he stops me with a nudge.

Ok, this is one of the games he's been teaching me to play, trying to get me to enjoy my body. He calls it 'Jimmy and the life-sized Clark doll'. The rules are pretty simple; basically, he gets to do whatever he wants to me. He wins by making me scream. I don't know what happens if he loses - he hasn't yet, and I'm certainly not objecting.

I relax into his arms, savoring every moment. For so long I've denied myself this comfort, this contact, fearful of my own reactions. Humans are so fragile, so easily damaged, I'm always worried I'll forget myself and harm someone. This recent reprieve hasn't lost its novelty, and each time he reaches out to me I'm grateful.

As those hands run down my sides, over my hips, I'm more than grateful. I'm rock hard, my erection straining out in front of us. He brushes lightly over it, just enough to send a shiver down my spine, then passes down my flanks. He squats to reach lower, down my calves, around my ankles. This puts his face in an interesting place...

His lips are soft, trailing kisses over my coccyx. His hands move back up, over my buttocks, squeezing them, spreading them. The velvet rasp of his tongue, wet and cool, draws the first low moan from my lips.

I used to dream about something like this, fantasizing someone I could trust to touch me in these places, in this way. Nothing that prepared me for the intensity of the reality. The wave of lust, of sheer driving need that washes though me still takes me by surprise.

I breathe his name, so soft not even my super-hearing is sure I've actually spoken. I don't know what I'm asking him for - to stop, to never stop, to go faster, to slow down, to love me forever, to never leave me.

He moves downwards, caressing every inch. I wouldn't have guessed that the back of my knees could be so sensitive, that a gentle bite there would set my blood roaring in my veins.

His hands are all over me, his teeth and tongue alternating soft/rough with hard/sharp. The rough cotton of his jeans against my bare skin is too much and not enough. I reach for him, to undress him, but he holds my wrists captive. It's purely symbolic, I could break free at any time, but I voluntarily surrender control to him, just for this space of time. I can rely on him, I can let go, pretend for a moment not to have to impose such drastic self-restraints. He's in charge.

All I can have of him is his hands, his mouth. His clothes keep him away from me, while my nakedness leaves me feeling... vulnerable. Accessible. It's not a feeling I'm used to, no one else can reach me in this way, make me feel this way. Almost.. almost human.

He maneuvers me toward the bed, a gentle push in the right direction. He lays me down, spreads me open for his touch. He's working on my nipples, softly nibbling, fingers running down my sides. My fists are clenched around the bars of the headboard, if I'm not careful I'll have to buy him a new one, again.

He murmurs into my chest, his voice rumbling between us. Sweet nothings, praising my my body, my eyes, my taste.

He drifts lower, kissing, licking, his breath cooling my fevered skin. He's teasing me, lips brushing around my dick, over it, never quite touching it. I'm straining upwards, fighting my own muscles, longing for the cool silk of his mouth.

Is there any sight so entrancing as a beautiful boy, a beautiful man you love, going down on you? Slipping your dick into his mouth, concentrated on your taste, your feel, your pleasure... I almost come from the first stroke. He's looking up at me, enjoying my dilemma, laughing with me, around me, eyes half closed but bright with joyous lust.

He takes me all the way, nose to pubes, and works the muscles of his throat around the head. I'm being swallowed, consumed, lost in his cool depths. We're joined by a bridge of my flesh, a living conduit connecting us.

Then he lifts my legs, spreading them wide as his mouth glides lower. Over my perineum towards my ass. His tongue draws a damp line along me, tickling, teasing. Then he's there, breath soft and warm, waiting for me to relax. It's difficult, I'm so keyed up, almost trembling with desire. I want him, want him to just plunge into me, to open me wide and break through my barriers, but he waits patiently for my body's signal.

Consciously I will my muscles to unclench, to let loose some of their habitual tension. I feel the questions flowing out of me, as his answers flow in.

He moves in slowly, so slowly at first, his tongue opening me up. I arch up into him, pulling my legs back further. He moves back and forth, alternating from my cock to my ass, his hands busy all the while on my nipples. I'm moaning, softly calling his name. I was never this verbal alone. His presence frees something in me, some elemental creature that lives to take and be taken, consume and be consumed.

He slips the condom on me, knowing my needs, taking care of me even now. He knows I can't really relax until I know he's out of danger. Now I can stop worrying about it and concentrate on how much I want his dick inside me, how much I want his weight on top of me.

He slides up my body, my legs resting on his shoulders. He's pulled his cock out through the fly of his jeans, and the contrast of silken skin and rough denim drives me wild. I want more, need more.

The lube is cool and slick, he's put on too much and a trickle runs down my back, leaving a trail of sensation. Then he's pressed up against my ass and nothing else matters. Our eyes lock as he slips into me in one long, smooth stroke. We hold there, trapped in each other's gaze.

"Fuck me," I whisper.

He does.

Long and hard and hot and sweaty, deep strokes and shallow, short thrusts and easy glides, he knows all the right moves. His hands are working my dick in tandem with his hips working my ass, and we're riding the crest together, higher and higher and I'm crying out wordlessly, and he's licking my neck, then kissing me and I see the world expoding as he shudders and bites down on my lip and I'm coming harder than I ever knew I could....

Some unknown time later... he's lying half on top of my, having finally shed his clothes. Our skin is damp and sticking together, and his hair is tickling my nose, and I've never felt more comfortable in my entire life.

He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, and starts running his fingers over my face, tracing my features as he did the very first night we spent together.

"I love you, Clark," he saysm and kisses me.

"I love you, Superman," his voice is tender, with an undercurrent of possession, of strength.

"I love you, Kal-El". Another kiss, deeper, warmer.

His eyes are locked on mine, his expression serious.

"I love you," he whispers.

He wins, again.

But I collect the prize.

Provincetown, MA
September, 1999