So I had an epiphany in a gay bar, deep in some whacked out comic book universe. The second that Diana Prince's hand started to slide over the inside of my chino clad thigh, and I saw that look on her face that was something like a feral cat presented with a plate of chopped filet. Bang. Wham. Heaven's open up. Comes the dawn.

This woman is trying to put the moves on me. This woman is horny, and it's directed at me. And I have not been chosen as randomly as one of those damn numbered ping-pong balls that blow up out of a swirling mass to present the winning numbers in Lotto. I have done something to attract that hot stare and even hotter hand.

Fuck!

Time to leave. My speed would have shocked my old junior high gym teacher. My lack of manners in saying my fair wells would have made Miss Manner's heave. All I know is that I am simultaneously crystal clear about what has been going on, and more confused than ever.

I'm halfway down the block before Jimmy catches up with me, and that says a lot about my state, because he's a young, active dude. "Yo, Scribe! Hold up, dammit! You can't just go racing around the streets down here after dark all by yourself."

I manage to hold still long enough for him to catch up, then take off again. "Geez, will you calm down!" He grabs my arm, and steers me over to a little coffee shop. "Come in here and sit down, before you run in front of a bus."

He pushes me into a booth, sliding in after me to keep me from rocketing off again. He studies me for a second, then says, "If it was anyone else, I'd suggest warm milk to calm them down." He reflects my glare without melting. "But since it's you, I think you need sugar and caffeine to calm your nerves." And he orders a soda and donuts from the waitress. "Okay, now what brought that on?"

"What brought what on? It was late."

He rolls his eyes. "And you were so exhausted that you decided to sprint home. Try again."

The waitress sets down the soda, and starts to lower the plate of donuts. "Jimmy, do you think I'm gay?" The plate tilts, and the donuts hit the table, rolling. I catch them before they can escape, and tell the waitress (who must be working some long hours, because she's white as a sheet) "That's okay. The table is clean enough." I pile the donuts back on the plate as she wobbles off.

He's arching those pale eyebrows again. He says slowly. "Well, I kinda assumed you were. Living with Lois, and the way you dress, and all. Or I thought maybe you were bi, because you flirt with guys, too."

"But Jimmy, the way I dress is really, really middle of the road where I come from, and.... Living with Lois? Why would that make you think... Oops."

Jimmy's leaning his elbow on the table, chin propped in his hand. "Yeah. She has something going with Superman, buuuut... She had something going with his old flame Lana, too, up until recently. You really didn't know?"

I slump in the seat and arrange my hair over my face. It makes a very effective curtain. Veronica Lake had the right idea, she just didn't take it far enough. I tap my forehead. "NAIVE. Printed right across here in capital letters. I mean, I knew that was a gay bar, kind of hard to miss it. But I thought she was, well, cosmopolitan."

Jimmy blinked. "I don't think I've heard it called that before."

"Ooh, cripes, have I been a dim bulb." I find one of the donuts by feel and bring it back behind the security screen and start munching. It isn't all that easy to keep from getting a mouthful of hair, but I manage.

"That still doesn't explain why you moved out of there like someone slipped a firecracker down your pants."

"No firecracker. Someone... uh... a hand got slipped between my legs."

Revelation flashes in Jimmy's eyes. "Oh, you got groped. Well, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner."

I part my hair and stare at him. "Hardly sympathetic, Mr. Olsen."

He shrugs. "It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

I wonder how I'm going to get the sprayed donut crumbs out of my hair later, but there's no time to worry about it. I flip the hair out of my face and stare back at him. "Why would you say that?"

He seems bewildered. "Well, hell, you were flirting with anything that had a pulse."

"I was not!"

"Yes you were. A few more drinks, and I'd have tried to sit on your lap."

"But... but... but I was just joking around."

"Did you joke around like that back home?"

"Yeah. I used to go to gay clubs with a couple of my friends. I had fun. No one ever took it seriously. For real. I mean, some used to flirt back, but I knew they didn't mean it."

"Are you sure about that?" I opened my mouth, but really didn't know what to say to that. Nothing had ever come of it, anyway. I'd always had a good time, and went home with Lawrence and Alex. "Geez, Scribe. You've been pretty blatant by our standards. I mean, I listened to the waitresses talk about the time you sang about making out on the beach, and I watched you with the band. You mean to tell me that sort of exhibitionism is considered common in your world? It isn't considered at least titillating?"

I put my head in my hands. How in God's name could I explain Madonna to anyone who would think that 'Help Me Make It Through The Night' was near pornographic? Or Wendy O. Williams, who used to perform clad from the waist up in nothing but electrician's tape or shaving cream? It might be better not to introduce these concepts. "Oh, cripes, major communications foul up. I guess I need a tee shirt that says 'JUST KIDDING'."

"A talking tee shirt?"

"That's right, y'all don't have message tees yet. Damn, I could make a fortune in this world, if I just had a little technical knowledge." I drank most of my soda in one throat numbing, fizzy gulp, narrowly avoiding a cold headache. I sighed. "I've really been flirting?"

He nods. "Enough for an entire school system of girls, ages thirteen to eighteen."

I can't help myself. "Am I good at it?"

He smirks. "You're doing a champion job right now." And he puts his hand on my knee.

Oddly enough, I don't feel the urge to climb over the table and flee. But I'm not sure if that's because he's a guy or because he's Jimmy. I mean, I like him. "I thought you thought I was gay?"

The hand finger-walks a little higher. "I'm leaning more toward bi, now. It may just be hopeful thinking on my part. Of course, what matters is what you think."

"I think I'm almost as confused as I was when I started out this morning, except now I know that I'm confused." He's located a sensitive spot at the top of my thigh that I didn't know I had, and when he rubs it my leg vibrates a little, almost like when you scratch one of 'those spots' on a dog's chest. "I'm not sure I freaked so bad because Diana Prince is a woman, than that she's a scary woman."

"How do you feel about redheaded cub reporters of Swedish lineage?"

"Who are, like, about two decades younger than me?"

"Let's say young, healthy, and with terrific stamina."

"Who's the flirt? I'm highly suspicious of the ID you showed at the club, and I'd rather not be tossed for corrupting a minor."

"Then why haven't you slapped my hand away?"

"I thought you were brushing powdered sugar off my pants. You can put it away, now. I'm not doing anything tonight except whining to myself in confusion and self pity."

"Okay." He removed his hand. "Just let me know when the angst-o-rama ends. So, does this mean that you're going to metamorphosis into a demure little lady?"

I snorted. "Oh, you know someone who can do a DNA swap, accompanied by complete character restructuring and a memory wipe? No. I expect to get crazy again. I'm just not going to let myself end up alone in the same room with Diana Prince. Not unless I'm wearing a steel chastity belt."