Giving Up, Getting On (Patreon)

Tall, fit, and decidedly curvaceous, the only thing imperfect about Karen Starr was that she was, arguably, too much of a good thing. Simply too much woman for any man without the highest level of confidence in herself.

Unfortunately for her, Power Girl was both one of the strongest superheroines around and one of the most beautiful women on the JLA—which seemed to have a thing for hiring girls who could easily pass as lingerie models or beauty contest winners, even now that Max was gone. There were few who, consciously or unconsciously, thought they could measure up to her.

Superman was one; too bad he was too close to being her cousin. Captain Marvel was just a bit too… boyish in some way. And even if Batman had a twelve-inch dick, would it be worth getting sucked into the walking emo phase’s orbit?

Then there was Wonder Woman: God knew that lezbo would hop into bed with her at the drop of a hat. But despite some bicuriosity, Karen couldn’t go through with the lesbian thing. She’d always been something of a tomboy; never too many female friends, save for Terra, and she’d literally come from the Earth’s core.

Karen had never gotten along too well with other women, used to jealousy at best from her less-endowed sisters. She was trying to get over that, hanging out with Huntress and even Harley Quinn—say what you would about her, but the clown made an effort to be friends and keep in touch, which was hard to find in your thirties.

But actually banging a woman? Karen wouldn’t deny that Wondy was hot, but she’d just end up feeling neurotic.

Finally, there was J’onn. Odd, Karen thought, that she only considered him because he was literally in the Watchtower’s observation lounge with her, standing manfully in front of one of the vast panoramic windows that looked out on the wonderfully ever-changing swirl of blue and white they were sworn to defend.

His cape was about the only thing that graced his disconcertingly green body; the trunks and suspenders that otherwise clothed him were so skimpy that they’d cause a riot if she were to wear them. They were, in fact, as barely-there as any costume Starfire’d ever had.

She wondered, then, why she hadn’t considered him as a mate. He was certainly built masculinely enough. His bald, beetle-browed head might’ve been a little oddly shaped, but that didn’t diminish the handsomeness of his features. He had the patrician good looks of some old Hollywood actor—Yul Brynner, maybe—and a body to match. Thick arms, broad chest, chiseled legs, great ass when his cape wasn’t in the way.

Again, Karen wondered why she hadn’t considered him hot before. Was it just that his greenness, his solemnity, his otherness, cast such a damper on things that, well, there was no considering him a sex partner?

Because that was ridiculous. He was one of the warmest, wisest, most soft-spoken people Karen knew. It shocked her, like everyone else, that Batman was technically a ‘dad’—J’onn was obviously, overtly paternal. So maybe that was it. She was so used to thinking of him as a wise old man, as a mentor, as even a father figure, that it never occurred to her how he was in the prime of his life, by Martian standards.

By any standards. He could’ve been an Olympic bodybuilder, with that physique. And they were the only two people on the Watchtower, him having monitor duty, her having no place else to go while her apartment was fumigated and not being in the mood for the endless gawking and leering that would go with being on patrol. Not when she wasn’t actually getting any of the satisfaction that should go with all the salaciousness she was greeted with.

Well, probably only a matter of time until she had to go out there; Darkseid wouldn’t give her a rain check because it’d been too long since she got laid. So she should make a good-faith effort to get out of her bachelorette status.

And what harm could it do to hit on J’onn? The man was always so gracious in everything and anything—he’d turn her down gently, if he turned her down at all. Now, Karen was curious… was he so chaste that he’d shoot her down or would her curves get even to his Zen self?

“Hey, J’onn,” she called, standing up from her seat to preen slightly—rocking on her heels to show her full breasts, wide hips, and statuesque physique to their best advantage, making a show of stretching until the kinks had all been cracked out of her luscious body. “Are you seeing anyone?”

J’onn arched an eyebrow—one that seemed to be entirely bone underlying his emerald skin. “May I ask the reason for your query?” he returned with his customary sternness.

Karen smiled to herself. She should’ve expected J’onn to try to turn things around on her before he spoke at all about himself. But then, she wasn’t dressed in the costume she was because she lacked boldness.

“Just trying to get to know you better. You seem pretty close to human, like me. You eat, you nap… it stands to reason you’d date. I know you’re a widower, but that was a long time ago and you come off so well-adjusted. It seems to me that you’d have the same urges as, well, most any guy. And no reason to suppress them. But still, it is hard to imagine you dating, even if you are a real catch. So… are you?”

J’onn seemed to summon up more of his usual majesty. And a man had to have a lot of majesty to not get laughed out of any joint he walked into when he was wearing a cape, trunks, boots, and suspenders. “It is… difficult to find a mate who’d be comfortable with the fact that I’m non-human.”

“Puh-lease!” Karen guffawed with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “It’s not like Starfire has any problem finding a man. People line up just to look at pictures of her.”

“Starfire has mating customs closely analogous to those of Earth,” J’onn informed her, as stentorian as ever. “Martian courting is not so compatible.”

“How so?” Karen asked him.

J’onn’s head tilted to the side. “Are you this curious about all courtship rituals?”

There he went, trying to turn it around on her again. Karen thought he’d gotten so used to being his usual pretentious self that he was a bit embarrassed of having a cock, and balls, and all the lustful thoughts that any man had about a beautiful woman in their presence. It was the Chocos thing all over again.

Karen sauntered up to the window J’onn was standing in front of. His red eyes seemed to glow brighter as she approached, but at the last moment, she sat at the nearest table instead of continuing onto him.

“You always seem so wise and well-spoken,” Karen cooed, figuring a little flattery went well with any flirtation. “It’s hard for me to believe you’d feel uncomfortable talking about sex.”

Karen had nothing to lose, so she decided to play this out all the way.

She was realizing, very surely, very suddenly, how much she wouldn’t mind it if J’onn decided to go for the pass she was making at him.

She crossed her legs slowly, pulling one up high to make it clear that her crotch was bare except for the strip of fabric that led from the back of her leotard to the front. It was hard to tell, with his all red eyes, whether he was staring at her legs—but Karen was definitely getting the feeling she got when someone was staring at her legs, and he was the only one here with her…

“Martian romances are consummated telepathically,” J’onn informed her. “There is little ‘dating.’ Compatibility is established with progressively deeper, more intimate mind-melds. Once it’s clear that the two lovers are able to bond at a deep, psychic level, they enter into a lasting and physical relationship.”

“So you can’t date someone unless they bend spoons?”

J’onn inclined his head in deference to the amusement he felt. “A mind-meld can be established with virtually any sapient species. But there are drawbacks. A non-telepath is at a disadvantage in these mind-to-mind ‘negotiations’. She would be subservient to the telepath’s drives and desires. Entering into mental contact with his unbridled sexuality would, de facto, make her submit to it.”

Karen let her eyes widen. “’She’?”

“For the sake of analogy. The telepathic partner would be dominant, no matter what their gender or that of their partner.”

Karen wondered what it would be like to suck J’onn off. She knew it would be fun, even exotic, to touch all the bare skin, that muscular flesh. The only mystery was what his prick was like. Well, no, that wasn’t a mystery. He was a shapeshifter. He could have a horse cock if he wanted to. Or if ‘she’ wanted him to.

“So, let me get this straight…” Karen began, crossing her shapely legs the other way. “If you had a thing for getting your dick sucked—for instance—and I mind-melded with you… as a non-telepath, your desire for getting sucked off would overwhelm me and all I’d want to do is blow you?”

J’onn wasn’t embarrassed, exactly, but she could tell she was getting to him. Despite the loose conversation, his voice sounded more ostentatious than ever. “That is… broadly… correct.”

“And if I had a thing for feet, it wouldn’t matter—your big telepathic brain would take the wheel and I would just be a happy little sex slave, sucking you off?”

“Yes. Your sexuality would be entirely suborned to mine.”

Karen allowed herself a grin. “Well. I’m not such a feminist that I’d mind a man being on top. How about it, J’onn? You’re the telepath. If I let you work out all your kinks with me, would I end the date crying in my shower or would I finally manage to squirt?”

“Moons of Mars,” was all J’onn could say, no doubt left in his mind that she was ready, willing, and able to take as good a fucking as he could give her.