"Miss?" He touched my shoulder. I turned, skittering out of reach. He looked like I'd kicked him. "You don't have to be afraid of me, I'd never hurt you. I'm sorry I sort of lost it. I was just lonely."

"That's one word for it, I suppose."

He made a helpless gesture. "You don't understand. I suppose almost everyone in the world must think I have women dripping off me, any time I snap my fingers."

"Reasonable assumption."

"But wrong. Oh, there are the fans, certainly. If I want a date for a charity ball or something, there's never any shortage, but try to go out to a simple movie or dinner..."

"Ah. Kind of conspicuous, huh?"

"I couldn't kiss a woman with the entire world watching. I'm not alone with anyone too often, and when I am, I don't see how I could be as discreet as I'd need to be. Anyone I was with might talk. Can you imagine the headlines?"

I thought. "They'd have to relax federal guidelines, but I see your point. So why did you... uh... glom on to me? I guess I have a relatively healthy self regard, but I know darn good and well I'm no Lois Lane or Pamela Anderson."

"Who?"

I perked up. Well, this world had escaped at least one media obsession. "Lots of blonde hair, surgically enhanced... wait, you don't have boob jobs here, do you?"

"Well, there are job opportunities for the less than mentally acute."

"Never mind. I might explain it to you sometime, just to see the look on your face."

"Why I... er, glommed? I was only going to give you the artificial respiration, I swear. You were looking a little bluish, and just didn't seem to be having any luck breathing. It only took those couple of puffs. I could see you were doing all right, but I thought, better safe than sorry. And when I pulled up the second time..." He took a breath. "It was the way you were looking at me."

"I did not give you a 'hey sailor' look."

"Huh? No, no. You just looked so... accepting. Like 'Oh, so that's who you are? All right.' No big deal, you know? No 'Oh my God, it's him!' You were looking at me like I was a man, not Superman. And I thought you looked like you liked me a little. So..." He shrugged. "And then you just tasted so sweet, and you were so soft, and you were wiggling..." His eyes were going dreamy. "And you grabbed me..."

"That wasn't meant as a friendly gesture."

He sighed sadly. "Yeah, I've heard that it's pretty agonizing for humans if it happens that hard." His eyelids lowered in remembrance. "But it sure did feel good."

I looked at him curiously. What the hell, I thought. I could very well be in an institution somewhere right now hallucinating. And if I'm not, he isn't the typed to pitch me over a rooftop. Might as well satisfy my curiosity. "Superman, are you a virgin?"

I can officially state as a fact that Kryptonians blush. "N-ot exactly."

"Let me guess on this one. You are a virgin, but your secret identity isn't?"

"So you know I have a secret identity? That's fast. Some people still haven't figured it out. In answer to your question--you're right. My other self has had some experience--enough to be very frustrated at the small amount of experience I've had."

"As Tonto said when he made a grab in the dark, 'Don't feel like the Lone Ranger.'"

He looked blank for a moment, then came the dawn. "You mean you...?"

"...am a certified unicorn magnet. Yep. I make Doris Day look like a nympho."

"Who?"

"Skip it. Let's just say that I am exactly as shipped, the wrapper hasn't even been opened."

"Wow."

"So look, Tall, Dark, and Semi-Pure of Body, what now? I can't very well hang in this alley hoping that pint sized psychopath will drop back by feeling generous, can I?" I was really hoping he'd say no, because I was feeling grubby, cold, hungry, and generally depressed about my situation.

"Of course not," he said sturdily. "Let me think of the best place to take you." He considered. "Well, I can't take you to my place, because I'm a bachelor. Your reputation would be ruined."

"I'm from another dimension. I don't have a reputation."

"You're going to be staying here for some time, so you will. Perry White and Jimmy Olsen are out, for the same reason. I do know an older couple. I could fly you there fairly quickly, but it's a ways off, and I'd frankly like to have you nearby. I feel responsible for you."

"Warm fuzzies, Supe. Where does that leave me? Salvation Army? Police custody? What?"

He snapped his fingers. "I think I know just the person! Come along."

Before I could say anything else, he scooped me up into his arms, and whoosh. I've been on a number of carnival rides, but nothing compared to this. It was kind of what I imagine the Falling Elevator ride must be like at Walt Disney World. The ground just dropped away. I proceeded to lose my breath for the second time in less than an hour.

A minute or so later, he landed on a balcony, and set me on my feet. "Here we are." I hyperventilated. "Oh oh. Sorry." He grabbed my head and put a lip lock on me, pushing in air--and his tongue.

I jerked back and smacked him. "Don't do that!" It hadn't been too different from slapping a regular person *or what I judged it would be like, given my limited experience*, except that his head didn't turn with the slap, and it made my hand sting.

There was the sound of glass doors sliding open, and a draft of blessedly warm air washed over me. A slender, dark haired woman with beautifully sharp features was standing in the balcony door, watching us. "Superman," she said. "Did I just see you getting your face slapped?"

"She was having trouble breathing," he explained.

"Sure she was. Well, don't just stand there, you two. I'm letting out all the warm air, and my utility bills are bad enough as it is." She stepped aside, and we entered. She closed the door after us, and eyed me. "Superman, are you taking in lost kittens now?"

I drew myself up with as much dignity as my plump stature, frizzy hair, and soiled clothing would allow. "I'm not a kitten, thank you. If anything, I am a fully matured bitch-kitty."

Dark blue eyes *geez, eat your heart out, Liz Taylor* sparked with amusement. "My mistake, but you seem to have come out the loser in whatever cat fight you were last in."

I deflated with a sigh. "You have no idea. Is there somewhere I can sit down without worrying about your upholstery cleaning bills?"

"Hold on." She disappeared into the back of the apartment. I looked around. Nice. I'd always liked retro sixties. Of course, this was modern here, I supposed. She returned in a moment with a huge red and white striped beach towel, which she draped over a chair. "Now, sit before you fall." I did. "Superman, you want to tell me why I found you snogging a bedraggled, exhausted waif on my balcony?"

I let him explain it, and he did a pretty good job. It sounded only half insane, instead of totally bonkers. She grasped it quickly, without obvious signs of choking on illogic. "So you're stranded."

"Worse that the castaways." She looked blank. "Sorry, interdimensional reference. Yes, I'm marooned. And I don't know what the hell..." Superman frowned, though Lois didn't seem to notice, "Excuse me, heck I'm supposed to do next."

"Well, you'll need a place to stay. My room mate just moved out, and I have a bedroom vacant. I'm sure I can get you some sort of work at the Daily Planet, so you'll have an income. Then you just hang on and make like a photographer."

"...and the congregation said, 'Huh?'"

"See what develops."