the WoMan in the blue dress

It was raining in Cityville, the kind of rain which strips the soul from your bones and leaves you crying in the gutter. That’s the way it works - there’s always a city in despair, crying out for heroes. Sometimes the hero has superpowers – they can stop bullets, run fast, reverse time – and sometimes they’re just ordinary people who choose to become vigilantes and strike fear into the hearts of the criminal populus. Or the evil leotard-clad villain. Delete as appropriate.

But not all heroes wear leotards and their underwear on the outside. Some just wear an ordinary blue dress, and some don’t wear underwear. They do however all wear a cape.

And so the stage is set, the players are in the wings waiting for the word. The play begins.

Act One

 It had been raining in Cityville, the kind of rain which strips the flesh from the bones of dead rats in the gutter. High on a rooftop overlooking the city centre, a young woman in a deep blue dress began to fall.

Janet Murchison didn’t know what was going on. It wasn’t really her fault, it’s just that her parents had cared more about pushing her through university than giving her all their money and dying like they should, and so she was hopelessly lost in a liberal arts course that she had to pass or flunk her degree and thus lose all her inheritance.

There’s always a damsel in distress.

So as she walked back home through the streets of the night with her live-in boyfriend, alternately nagging and whingeing, she understandably didn’t notice when Toby just collapsed. It was only when someone shouted that she finally turned and saw her friend lying on the floor fifty yards back down the road, several strangers in various colours of trenchcoats surrounding him.

“Toby!” She screamed, walking back to him. She would have run, but she was wearing high heels and didn’t want to ruin them by hurrying. “Oh Toby, what’s wrong? What’s wrong Toby? Wake up Toby.” Toby-this, Toby-that, you get the idea. “Oh, can anyone save you?”

The woman in the blue dress turned as she fell, the cape of her dress streaming out behind her. Her tummy almost brushed the ground as she turned and flew upwards and over the city, heading towards the university and home. As she passed over the puddle-drenched high street she noticed a crowd of people and swooped onto a rooftop to investigate. There was a man’s body lying on the ground, and people fussing round alternately trying to give him space and trying for a closer look. She’d seen it all before – a hundred different men, a hundred different places, one single cause, but so many different solutions. But tonight she fancied just keeping it simple – in, out, quickly go home so she didn’t miss Eastenders.

She rose into the air above the people, then plummeted feet first, arms above her head letting her dress fly off, exposing her naked body. That she needed to find her dress and get it cleaned did limit her to only one or two “missions” per week, but it was worth it for the style it gave her.

Her bare feet touched the wet pavement just beyond the circle of onlookers. “Let me through!” She cried, “this man needs a blowjob!” The other upside of losing the dress was that it made people much less likely to stop her – people were either too busy ogling or didn’t want to get arrested for assault. Oh the wonders of modern life.

There was an overdressed girl dithering about the man’s head, spouting crap in a manner that such people are wont to do.

“You the girlfriend?” The woman asked. When the girl nodded, she slapped her. “Stop being such a frigid bitch.”

The woman dropped to her knees on the hard ground, and reached for the man’s crotch as he lay insensate, undoing the fly and the button on his boxers, pulling out his cock into the cold air. The cold was good for him, it just made him more sensitive, and thus more responsive to the “treatment”. Aware that she had less than twenty minutes before Eastenders started, she quickly set to work, her technique refined over years of practice on passed out men. It was a fairly mild case luckily, judging from the speed of his arousal. She’d seen times when almost nothing would wake the man up, although it was possible some of them were drunk as well as sexually frustrated. Finally the moment came, and the man’s eyes snapped open and he gasped as the woman finished. The overdressed girl was at his side immediately, and somehow no one noticed as the woman, naked apart from a J painted on her chest, collected her dress from a nearby garden and flew away.

At eight o’clock, Jakki Everett was curled up naked under her duvet as Eastenders started.