Copyright 2010 by the author.
thobyandover@y7mail.com
Imagine the scene! The latest issue is plucked eagerly from the newsagent shelves, smelling of new ink and flexing tangibly in your paw! On the front-cover, the luridly-coloured characters are acting out a scene contained within these cheaply produced pages -- two young superhero-sidekicks are wide-eyed with surprise, for they have just been discovered by the dark, hulking form of NOCTUNAL INTRUDER!!! Even with his back to the camera and only one massive shoulder in the frame, the feared President of the COSTUMED SUPERHEROES Club of Century City is clearly not pleased with the panorama laid before him! Pale pink limbs are entwined and various articles of blue and yellow and purple and white costumes -- while lovingly rendered by the artist -- are but carelessly flung by these two delinquent teen-sidekicks! How on Earth does such a flabbergasting situation transpire? Oh for God's sake!
COSTUMED SUPERHEROES #2
Who is the one most intimate with the life of the Costumed Superhero? Apart from the dazzlingly dressed crusaders themselves, of course. We may peer at the crudely inked pages of the comic-book and make out the superbly formed contours of those strong biceps -- the fine lines of those dashing thighs -- but we still cannot make a learned judgement. The true details are sparse. How is the whole escapade funded, for example? Which skilled tailor is employed to manufacture the scientifically designed spandex costumes, which cling to the flexing bodies as they catch baddies? And who mops the floor at COSTUMED SUPERHEROES Headquarters? In time, we will learn of a certain old gentleman named SYLVESTER SWINBURNE, but for now it will suffice to understand that many of the routine chores are performed by the trusty sidekick. But this brings an even more puzzling question. Where can be found the teenager who is willing to spend hours cleaning and polishing, and then run about town in a flashy Speedo and tight spandex vest, picking up litter from the sidewalk and escorting old ladies across the street? How is the inscrutable, sulking youth torn away from his Xstation GameBox for these duties? The answer, as the reader may well know in his deep subconscious, lies in the realm of fiction.
"THERE'S A FLYSPECK ON THE WINDSCREEN!" came the booming thunder of NOCTURNAL INTRUDER's voice. The long, low Jaguar XJS had just returned from patrol, and the streets of Century City were not known for their cleanliness.
KID BUCK sprang into action. In blur of blue and yellow and smoothly flowing bare muscle, a bucket with soapy water was obtained. Trained to perfection, the valuable sidekick had become king of the three-minute car wash. He soaked and scrubbed furiously, using his electric-blue cape and sending soap-suds flying everywhere. He was in real hurry, for the NOCTURNAL INTRUDER seldom showed patience and the huge, leather-clad superhero stood by, watching intently with a flint-hard stare. Cold water splashed across the black super-vehicle and dripped to the concrete floor. The Jaguar would be washed in under three minutes or the teen-sidekick would answer why -- and in another five minutes, it would be properly polished to a faultless gleam. One minute after that, the tires would be newly blacked.
Soap suds ran in frothing rivers across bare black metal and streamed all over Kid Buck himself. The blue cape served as a wash-cloth, squeaking the paint clean and meticulously wiping all surfaces. The impassive Intruder watched as the soap ran across the chromed bumpers and splattered hither. A foamy lather poured between tight buttocks, where a taut Speedo gathered and twisted and pulled into its snug crevice. Two sizes too small, the tiny swimmer hugged an actively employed pair of hips which swivelled and shifted, and worked the taut, binding nylon hard against the soapy skin of its fast-moving wearer. At the front, the meagre nylon adhered and wrapped wetly to an indecently gripped and unusually large penis, tightly clutched in its bright-blue sheath of sheer fabric.
The car was fully washed in two minutes and fifty-seven seconds, and that gave Kid Buck an extra three seconds to polish. With a quick wiggle and a hooked thumb, he shucked off his Speedo and used it as a rag. It would be ruined for further superhero use, deprived of its electric hue and sparkling shimmer, but such is the life of the orphan who wants to be a comic-book star. NOCTURNAL INTRUDER had used a penknife and cut away any Speedo which had not come up to scratch, worn too many times and lacking dazzle, and Kid Buck had learned to keep a number of appropriately new racer-briefs in reserve -- hanging from a nail in his cell, next to his pallet.
"GET UNDER THE MUDGUARDS!" the Intruder ordered and the sidekick Kid leapt in response, applying his scrunched Speedo where it was required.
With muscles tensed and streaming wet with soap, the fine KID BUCK had finished the ultra-quick car wash before he even knew it.
"TOES TO THE LINE, BOY!!!"
With his bright-blue cape flaring, the super-supple Buck ran to a white painted line on the cement floor. There he stood, making sure the toes of his shining, winged yellow boots were not behind the line, nor overstepping it. He stood to attention, chin high in the air, his arms straight by his sides, his superhero-suit now minus its most necessary part -- the wasted scrumple of tiny Speedo-turned-washcloth. Nocturnal Intruder's orders were set to split the air, his tremendous voice threatening to crumble the foundations of the Secret Underground Costumed Superheroes Club Car-Park, which will be spoken about further on.
"FINGERS STRAIGHT AND TOGETHER!!! SUCK IN!!! CLENCH YOUR BUTT!!! CHIN UP!!! BRACE BACK ON THE HEELS!!! CHIN UP, I SAID!!! UP!!! UP!!! UP!!!"
The Buck stood with his neck arched, seeing the ceiling, his schlong still swinging like a pendulum from his recent lightning-fast activity. A glop of soapy bubbles slid down its meaty length and dripped to the concrete, and other parts of his flesh goosed with cold water and underground chill. Thusly positioned, his head bent way back and his body tensed, the lively lad stayed as perfectly still as he could. Nocturnal Intruder inspected him very watchfully. The melon of the Kid's tummy moved in and out as the boy-sidekick breathed. The muscles just above his knees contracted and relaxed alternately -- one then the other. Kid Buck would have to stay right there until The Intruder let him go, his wet, silken cape clinging to his tensely rippling back and rump.
The hard, fire-like eyes searing from behind the rubber hood came very close until the Buck could smell the rawhide. The Nocturnal One stood over the Kid and leant in. Their faces were inches from one another, the huge, black-suited figure looking down -- and the luridly, semi-clothed Buck with no choice but to stare back, straight upwards. A crack of thunder was unleashed.
"INTO THE GYM!!! THREE CIRCUITS AT REPETITION-HIGH!!! MOVE!!!"
One second, the young superhero in partial-costume stood fixed to the spot, unmoving. The next second, he was gone in a blur of electric blue and yellow. Underground in the COSTUMED SUPERHEROES Headquarters, training had begun.
And so we are further enlightened about the COSTUMED SUPERHEROES. The superbly trained KID BUCK has washed the Jaguar XJS to a high gleam, diligently applying the soapy lather, splashing it about and creating for us a typical scene in the life and times of the superhero. And NOCTUNAL INTRUDER has directed proceedings, skilfully guiding his apprentice in his sidekickly duties. We may be pleased to know, further, that at some stage the Sidekick Kid is stripped completely and stood upon a drain-hole where he is hosed down with a cold jet. And while this is done, the intrepid duo TITAN MAN and TEEN RANGER (with whom we are already somewhat familiar) are provided with the chance opportunity to see this showering take place as they pass by in the underground car-park -- and TEEN RANGER finds the necessity to adjust his Speedo.
Meanwhile, at a distance of only a few streets away, a dastardly discourse is taking place in a den in the Century City underworld. A crew of villains of the vilest variety are verbalising upon their vagrant dispositions. Now read on!
"Man, things are rough!" said a crook, hunched over a dirty table and a chipped mug containing whisky. "Not only are the police cracking down hard on us, but the COSTUMED SUPERHEROES have been hot as firecrackers lately!"
"You're not kidding, Whipper!" replied another degenerate felon languishing in a vermin-ridden armchair. "Those crime-busting lawmen and their super-sidekicks have been capturing our fellow crooks by the carload! Everywhere they patrol, they chance across some caper."
Suddenly, there was a strange interruption in the dingy cigarette-smoke filled lair. The door banged open with a loud report and a swish of air caused the oily candles to flutter. The crooks all started as a khaki-uniformed guard with laceless, knee-high boots snapped to attention at the entrance.
"Attention!" the guard barked, startling the assembled evil-doers from their miserable self-pity. "The Captain has come to address you!"
With that alarming introduction, in whooshed a resplendently uniformed military figure, shining from head to toe in polished brass and gleaming leather. The impressive personage wore a peaked cap finished in a mirror gloss, a monocle, and carried a riding-crop in his tight-fisted grasp.
"Gentlemen!" the intruder said before any had a chance to register their astonishment. "Allow me please to introduce myself. My name is CAPTAIN VON HECKLE, formerly of the Devil's Mercenary Brigade, at your service! Maybe some of you have heard of me. Yes?"
"Von Heckle!? It can't be," said one shocked criminal. "I remember two years ago! Von Heckle and the Devil's Mercenary Brigade had the whole criminal underworld organised into a single, coherent gang! But he's in Jail! He was caught when the Century City Mint heist went bad!"
"So you were led to believe," said Von Heckle, removing his brass-buttoned greatcoat with the assistance of his guard. "But as you see, I am very much a free man. I escaped from the prison van on the way from court, and the authorities chose to suppress this information as not to alarm the public. Now, you men of the underworld will become my new army! My military-slanted crimes will make us all rich!"
Spellbound, the thieves listened to a daring plan to revolutionise crime by the application of military methods.
"...And we cannot fail so long as everyone obeys my orders! We will militarise criminal activities in the Century City, thereby working towards an efficient system of profiteering and extortion" Von Heckle finished, after outlining all of the details. "You gentlemen cannot but agree to serve under my commands!"
"Sounds great, Captain," said one hardened robber. "But let me ask you one thing. How do you know one of us won't turn informer and give you away to the authorities?"
"Give me away?" replied the Captain with an evil glint in his monocled eye. "I've already escaped from the maximum security prison operation of Century City! Whomsoever might give me away will be eventually apprehended by me! And consigned to my secret punishment dungeon! Put simply, gentlemen, you wouldn't dare!"
The collection of thieves, racketeers, extortionists, and wrongdoers shuddered as one. "He's right!" they thought to themselves. "We... we wouldn't dare!"
And so it comes to pass that this militarised force of evil aligns against the COSTUMED SUPERHEROES -- possibly the most terrifying and fearsome threat ever contrived to menace Century City and the superheroes who protect it! Presently, we shall see how Von Heckle's baddie brigade begin their onslaught, and how the superheroes respond! But before that, let us take another little peek into the average activities of two young costumed sidekicks!
KID BUCK took aim, and in a carefully timed movement, head-kicked a terrorist in the airport terminal. Another came at him. The Kid made an impossibly high jump, swung around, and another baddie was side-swiped in the head. "POW!" But more were coming, and the fighting became furiouser and furiouser!
"Got you! Ha!"
"POW!"
"ZONK!"
"Ha! Got that one too!"
"Look out behind you!" came the cry from KID BUCK's colourful ally, TEEN RANGER.
"I've got him! Ow!
KID BUCK took a punch to the stomach and went down.
"You just got maxed!" said TEEN RANGER. "My turn!"
"But I haven't got to the monster-truck stage yet!"
"You just blew the easy part, K.B.! Just remember it was me who cracked this shit!"
TEEN RANGER made a move for the plastic game controller, muscles flaring with wild-animal tautness. He caught KID BUCK by the arm and twisted, but the hard-fighting Kid retained his grip on the GameBox.
"Oof!"
Bare limbs entwined and grappled, and the terrifying Teen managed to take hold of the heroic Kid's blue Speedo, hoiking it into the crack. There was a short pant of air as the nylon zipped across the Kid Buck's tightly puckered sphincter.
"Aaaaah!"
Caught by surprise, the Kid arched on the floor, struggling and curving and gasping. Now, both superheroes were breathing hard. Their heads knocked clumsily together, but a moment later they were roughly kissing, still fighting, still thrashing.
"Turn over!" Kid Buck said. He had Teen Ranger by the waist and was pulling and pushing, trying to get those hips into position. An urgent prong of meat popped from a blue Speedo and slapped hard into a firm belly.
"Turn over!"
Another purple Speedo was dragged down a pair of smooth, coltishly muscled, wiggling legs, and over a pair of purple basket-ball high-tops.
"Do it this way!" panted an agitated Teen Ranger. With his back to the floor, the supple Ranger lifted his legs backwards, his knees to his ears, and presented his tight hole. Kid Buck spat on his hand and wiped between those rolling buttocks.
"Ah!... Ah!... Ah!... Ah!... Hurry up!" Teen Ranger yelped, and a full-blooded probing head nudged against his stretched opening.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!" went the open-mouthed Teen, his voice cracking and trilling. Kid Buck moved with adroit swiftness, humping and grunting, his backside clenched `till it rippled. His thrusts became harder and his voice joined with the Teen Ranger in a mutual concert of oblivion. Slick with sweat, the two crime-busters moved in a super-powered coupling. Kid Buck's considerable shaft pistoned and drove and his bright blue-and-yellow hair flip-flopped back and forth over his brow. Teen Ranger reciprocated in time with forceful hip-thrusts and a string of little yelps. He closed his eyes and craned his neck backwards... Then, Kid Buck's plunging shaft was plunging no longer. It had been withdrawn. "Huh?"
Teen Ranger opened his eyes and blinked in dumb surprise. There, standing over the recently trysting duo of derring-do, stood the giant, black-leather form of Nocturnal Intruder.
"Ulp..."
"Oh shit."
Kid Buck jumped, whimpering piteously. A super-stream of white jetted into the air from the eye of his lurching man-meat. It hit the ceiling with an audible splat and hung down in an extended rope. More of it was coming.
Great spurts of it went in multiple directions, curling and whizzing past his ears. And while all this went on, the bewildered Teen Ranger lay back unmoving, his legs back over his head and his fleshy, pink aperture winking in puzzlement and disappointment.
"You'd better go find Titan Man, son." It took a moment for Teen Ranger to realise the hulking Nocturnal One was speaking to him, because the searing grey eyes behind the mask were looking at the other trembling boy-sidekick, Kid Buck.
"Yessir! Yessir, Nocturnal Intruder Sir! Yessir!" Now it was the Teen's turn to jump, and he made to perform an exit with haste, but even an agile super-sidekick cannot run and pull on his Speedo at the same time, and there was some tripping and bumping before the purple and white Teen was fully suited and scurrying fast to somewhere else, a hot little wire burning in his belly.
And so we have now witnessed another less-than-superb ejaculation by a costumed superhero -- or should that be a regretfully uncostumed one. And as the surprised Teen Ranger runs away, perhaps we should surmise that the hot little feeling in his belly is not totally caused by anxiety, for he remembers that the Nocturnal Intruder owns a buggy-whip, and he supposes that this instrument is about to applied to certain quarters -- or perhaps we should make that certain hindquarters, and sure enough, in the following days it is noticed that the superhero Buck is wearing three red stripes -- and he is reluctant to sit down -- and his blue Speedo brief is always pulled strategically into his warm, rearward crevice -- and he is especially - especially trusty and respectful to his superior, the NOCTURNAL INTRUDER!
TITAN MAN had gotten a surprise! This morning, his youthful charge, the valiant TEEN RANGER seemed altogether different! It was as if some skilled artist had airbrushed a brand-new teen-aged Ranger! What was this?
The lad was kitted out in his usual guise, but the purple cape was shimmering in its silken splendour, with its bold, colourful "TR" logo suspended with an unusual pride! The purple vest was straight from the wash, and oh, so tight and well fitting with short sleeves riding high near his rounded shoulder-blades! The white lightning stripes dazzled in their freshness. The white latex gauntlets shone, newly polished and cleaned! And the little Speedo racers were spanking-new as well! (And maybe... just a little smaller than usual!) Their little white lightning bolts were clearly defined on the contoured bulge of the front-pack.
Purple basketball high-tops were scrubbed and fresh! The white laces were criss-crossed in true superhero fashion!
"What's this?" exclaimed the Titanic one. "I don't even have to tell you to pull your socks up!"
It was true. Clean purple socks were neatly aligned below tensed, lifted kneecaps!
There was something else too! Teen Ranger's black hair was neatly parted and slicked down with a healthy gloss!
"Hey! You look spick-and-span, my young Ranger... Teen Ranger...? What are you doing?"
"I'm standing to attention, Sir."
"Attention? What the ...? When was the last time you ever called me `Sir'?"
"Well, Kid Buck calls Nocturnal Intruder `Sir.'"
"Yes, well, but..."
"Don't you think I need a little bit more...er...discipline?"
"Well, I..."
"And yesterday I got Kid Buck in trouble again and so maybe I need to be punished, don't you think?"
"Oh, that. Now I get it. This is like the time you got yourself all tied up in the wardrobe -- `practicing for being captured.'"
"Well, superheroes do get captured," the clever sidekick observed.
"And the time you spilled the ink in my study on purpose," said Titan Man. "That was right after Kid Buck got a whipping too. Listen. Kid Buck spent all last night scraping grout from between the floor-tiles at Headquarters. With a toothbrush. Naked! Is that what you want!"
"Oooh! Golly!"
"You can start after breakfast by washing the dishes."
"Aaaaw! Titan Man! That's not very superheroey!"
The terrific Teen came over to where Titan Man was sitting. "Do you want me to wash the T-Mobile naked, Mr. Titan Man, Sir?" The boy leant over, right into the Titan's face and spoke with a spunky smirk.
"Don't you want some breakfast...?" Fuck! The boy-Ranger knew how to put even TITAN MAN off balance! The little spunk-ball was causing the blue-costumed superhero to sputter, almost.
The sidekick-Ranger took the initiative and moved in. Their mouths met, open. Titan Man's eyes were wide with surprise and the Ranger's closed, his feminine lashes long and low. Teen Ranger's arms were behind the titanic neck, screwing their mouths harder together. An adroit hand was now somehow down inside the blue spandex, tickling the mountain range which was Titan Man's rock-hard stomach. The clumsy, lively fingers snagged before finding their way onto the huge, huge Titanic man-muscle.
Their mouths parted with a wet smack. "I still can't get my fingers around it, Mr. Titan Man, Sir," the Teen Ranger said in a mocking, lisping voice.
"Why, you little spunk-rat!" said Titan Man. The Ranger giggled with a "hee hee hee," as he bumped against the table, stumbled, and managed to get himself between Titan Man's knees and find a special invisible opening in the blue fabric (why, even superheroes need to pee).
"Oh, God!" Titan Man said with an intake of breath.
The tongue was working, licking, up and down the underside of the shaft, scraping with quick, darting movements. It was a big job, but Teen Ranger slurped expertly, causing the superhero man-mountain to moan and grunt.
"Suck...! Fuck!" The Titanic hero threw his head back. His hand was combed into the slick black hair which bobbed between his legs. The industrious Teen Ranger got busier. He had to raise himself and bring his chin into his chest in order to go down on the massive superhuman prong. There were no wisecracks now. The Ranger's mouth was full.
"...........Ohhh..........Ohhhh..........Ohhhhhhhh!!!" moaned the Titan. "Suck it, Ranger... Suck it... Good boy."
The Ranger's head bobbed faster, and he slurped harder still. "Mff... Mff..." the rampaging Ranger seemed to be saying. Suddenly: Crack, went his head against the edge of the table, and Titan Man felt sharp little teeth on his shaft.
"Ow! Watch your head, kid," he said. The two sparky green eyes of the Teen Ranger rolled apologetically, appealingly upwards. But Titan Man's organ was now beginning to throb.
It swelled. It was so big and so powerful that it completely filled the titillating Teen's mouth and throat so that he could no-longer move up or down on it. He couldn't even get it out of his mouth if he wanted. Gagging, he now moved his head in time with the pulsing meat which stuffed him to the tonsils.
"Mmm... Mmm... Mmm..." was all he could utter. The pulsing became faster, and the first spurts of superhero cum-load were squirted directly into his gullet. But there was no way that even a dedicated and capable sidekick like TEEN RANGER could contain the coming flood of the powerhouse Titan. It washed into him, and with his lips tightly locked about the mighty meat-shaft, he managed to swallow a few gulps, but then came the explosion. Titan Man groaned again, long and loud. The stuff ejected from the side of the Ranger's mouth and started coming from his nose. The massive surge from the Titan sent the tonsil-stuffed Teen into a panic for a moment. He thought he was drowning. But the skilful Teen Ranger was no stranger to the sucking profession, and he knew this final eruption would be followed by the gradual subsiding of the massive meat in his mouth.
Titan Man saw spots before his eyes, and he groaned again, releasing a monumental amount of tension from his enormous frame. He sank in the chair and the chair groaned under him. Meanwhile, his kid-sidekick was on the floor, choking, gagging, spluttering, and coughing. Teen Ranger curled on his knees, his forearms on the floor in front of him, his head bowed. He spat, hacked, made other noises, and began to breathe. His own cock was hard. Rock-solid. Wrestling with his tight nylon Speedo. He put a hand there and whimpered.
"Get over here, boy," croaked Titan Man. Hell! Who could imagine the magnificent TITAN MAN is such a state? Moaning and groaning on a chair, legs apart, his herculean man-meat hanging limply dribbling white jelly. Teen Ranger crawled over and buried his now tousled head in the superhero's groin. He licked up the mess, slurping it from soaked spandex and mighty thighs and belly, and everywhere else. The sidekick's hair was used to wipe it off. It was quite a lengthy process and afterwards both superheroes were drained and said nothing. The mighty Titan put a gentle hand on the boy's upper back, where sharp muscles rippled with shoulder blades. He affectionately ran the knuckle of his thumb slowly up and down the notches of the curved spine. He knew Teen Ranger liked that. It made him arch and stretch, and turn his head sideways and gawp up at the rubber-hooded giant again with those pleading green eyes, just as if he wanted to roll over like a puppy. Titan Man roughly massaged his sidekick's head, messing the cum-encrusted hair.
"Just lick that last bit up there, spunk-boy. Good boy."
"Titan Maaaan!" pleaded the lad softly. "I need to get off!" The blue Titan saw that the boy was rubbing his crotch, and that there was a large, hard lump straining in his Speedo.
The energy of the crime-fighting teenaged typhoon was a turbulent thing to be managed, but the Titan knew a thing or two about releasing tension in the young man. He reached down with a massive, skilled hand in a black gauntlet.
And now we have seen a slightly more adequately administered assignation between two powerful superheroes, finally. But what next? Isn't it time we learned more about the plot at hand? Read on!
"We've been messing around this whole issue, talking nonsense, having head-jobs, with hardly any progress on the Captain Von Heckle device," Titan Man said to his attentive young `kick, taking a swig of black coffee. "I need to update you with some business. Firstly, PRO_FESOR POWER needs to have his name changed."
"How come?"
"The Costumed Superheroes Club doesn't want any potential copyright problems," said the serious blue-suited one. "That's unlikely to happen, but imagine some nine-year-old performing a simple Google search and coming up with a black-gowned university professor in an oaken school-room and with a firm swish of birch in his grasp, and the comely UNDERGRAD LAD, bent over an Etonian flogging-block with his school-shorts about his ankles after having done his sums wrongly upon the slate. The birch-rod rises. It quivers in the air, tantalisingly -- majestically, before swooping to the pertly rounded buttocks..."
"Aw, gee-whiz! Even Undergrad Lad gets the odd whippin.' What do I have to do to get..."
"You're missing the point, Ranger. This hypothetical nine-year-old may be expecting to find an obscure but nonetheless legitimate superhero in an orange costume, I think, existing in a different universe."
"Does the hythopetical nine-year-old want to be caned?"
"No! No...!" said a frustrated Titan Man, clonking down his super-sized coffee mug.
The thoughtful sidekick continued. "I wonder how many kids do Google searches on TEEN RANGER. I did once and the only thing that came up was a program being run by the National Parks Service of Minnesota."
"Oh my God!"
Dear reader, this conversation between the super-duo does not seem to be advancing in any useful direction. Let us flick the smudged pages forward a few frames, and after a breakfast of twelve Weetabix, two oranges, two pints of milk, twelve slices of toast and three tins of baked beans (and that's only for the copiously fuelled Teen) we may be able to discern if something else is going on!
What is the scene now? Aha! The secret Headquarters of the COSTUMED SUPERHEROES Club of Century City! It's a secret underground command centre -- known to only one other person apart from the COSTUMED SUPERHEROES themselves -- such is its secretness! The arrangements surrounding the Superheroes' secret HQ require a short paragraph of explanation before the story should continue.
SYLVESTER SWINBURNE was a successful businessman who had made his fortune years earlier and was involved in the commerce of steam and bath houses. In the far-gone days when the Sheertown precinct was free of the degenerative effects of corruption and racketeering, Sylvester Swinburne had enjoyed the fruits of an honest, wholesome commercial operation. The benefits of a well-run steam and bath house were also something with which the entire Sheertown community was rewarded. Sylvester had introduced the concept of signing up popular singing-stars to perform in his venue. Such luminaries as Betty Bonke and Sammy Drawl had started their careers at Sylvester's steam and bath house, their fresh-faced and family oriented shows gaining widespread publicity. Unfortunately, the good-old-days were long finished, and Sheertown now hosted so much noxious and unlawful activity that a decent and moral operation such as Sheertown Steam and Bath was not nearly as commercially viable as it once was. If follows that Sylvester Swinburne gladly provided the COSTUMED SUPERHEROES with the unused basement level of his business premises for their own personal use. This is where the Headquarters are housed. It is a concrete-encased fortress of bare walls and steel. It is where the crime-busting teams of superheroes and sidekicks assemble in secret before setting off to make shady characters tremble. Inside the Headquarters are equipment facilities, a development centre, a rudimentary gym, even a small jail, and yes; a stainless-steel toilet.
The Headquarters is where this crime-busting couple made their way after the morning's various disturbances. To get there, TITAN MAN and TEEN RANGER took the grey Volkswagen Karmann Ghia -- the T-MOBILE.
The Powerhouse Pair rolled into Sylvester Swinburne's underground car-park and were greeted by the grizzled old proprietor himself.
"Park in the usual spot, Mr. Titan Man," said the crusty, white-haired gentleman. "Glad to see you here. Crime in Sheertown is overwhelming us all, and nobody knows how the rising tide can be stemmed. Why, in the good-old-days there was none of this extortion and robbery and racketeering and... the Costumed Superheroes are almost the only ones fighting against the scum! The police can do almost nothing! Yes! These crooks are scum! That's what I tell you! Scum is what they are!"
"Steady on, Mr. Swinburne," said TEEN RANGER. "We'll make sure no bad guys break in around here!"
"Why, in the good old days," the old man continued. "I could hang a shingle and cater to honest folk who wanted nothing more than a steam and a bath -- and a... and a..."
"And who can forget the veritable galaxy of stars who played at your steam and bath house?" said TITAN MAN. "There was Betty Bonke and, erm... Sammy Drawl and, erm..."
At the mention of the stars of Sylvester Swinburne's Sheertown Steam and Bath, TEEN RANGER began jabbering excitedly.
"And there was that lady who you told me about, Titan Man, who..."
"That was Betty Bonke."
"Did she really incorporate into her act a snake, and a full-sized rubber blow-up..."
"It was before your time, boy."
Old Mr. Swinburne gestured with his walking stick. "This way, gentlemen. You'll find your facilities undisturbed, as usual. What with all this criminal activity going on, it's lucky the place is kept secure with a secret Headquarters cement trapdoor. In the good old days there'd be no need for any of this clandestine activity, superheroes in costumes, running around in the night endangering the lives of fine young fellows like young Mr. Teen Ranger here... in a bathing costume like a strumpet at Birmingham Sulphur Waters... trained to physical perfection in my basement... although..."
"Thanks, Mr. Swinburne," the Titanic Terror said. "We'll just go downstairs and prepare for today's stakeout."
"What's a strumpet?" asked the curious Ranger.
"Why, in my day," said Mr. Swinburne as he led the way through the underground car-park. "We had Mr. Internal-Combustion Man and Impulse Urchin -- The `Tudor Team' -- to protect us from the pickpockets and riff-raff. Ptchou!!! I suppose in this modern day we need superheroes like yourselves. Not like in the good old days!"
As Teen Ranger eagerly scrambled down the ladder into the Headquarters, Sylvester gestured Titan Man to one side. "I'm sure it's none of my business, Mr. Titan Man, Sir, but I couldn't help noticing that young Mr. Teen Ranger's swimming trunks are... well... very small. Do you think it's entirely decent of the lad to get about so scandalously?"
Titan Man smiled. "You forget, Sylvester, that the Teen Ranger is a bona-fide superhero. And anyway, that attire is hardly out of place in Sheertown these days."
"Hmf! I suppose so. But be careful, Mr. Titan Man, Sir. Those thighs are most flashy and bare-skinned, and some disreputable fellows might like to capture him for evil purposes."
"Ha, ha! I'm sure nothing like that will happen!"
Titan Man descended the ladder as Sylvester Swinburne, muttering, doddered away to take care of business at his steam and bath house.
And so we leave off from another episode of the COSTUMED SUPERHEROES! What will happen next? And indeed, just what exactly, has happened thus far? Not very much, it is feared. KID BUCK has earned himself three wicked red stripes on his narrow behind, and apart from that, we have merely received a jolly introduction to the criminal-mastermind CAPTAIN VON HECKLE and seen a few meaningless episodes devoted to superficial excitements. For one last peep into the enticing world of the superhero, let us follow TITAN MAN and TEEN RANGER briefly for a moment as they descend into COSTUMED SUPERHEROES Headquarters!
Teen Ranger always felt a small kick in his guts as he entered the super-serious world of the costumed crime-fighter, underground, surrounded by bare-metal and concrete. The narrow corridor was almost filled with Titan Man's enormous frame as he moved through the familiar territory. Behind scurried Teen Ranger, his basketball-shoes plip-plopping as he went. To one side, a heavy metal door stood ajar. It was the entrance to one of the austere, white-tiled auxiliary rooms used for various purposes. A computer-screen flickered in the darkness, and there, hunched over the machine with his back to the door was NOCTURNAL INTRUDER himself, probably accessing Central Police Data with his secret password.
"TITAN MAN!" came the shattering boom, reverberating on the close, hard walls. "I'm in here!" How had the super-senses of the mighty Intruder known that the Titan was passing his door? Probably by the audible and distinctive combination of heavy boot and scuttling basketball sports-shoe.
"Come on, Teen Ranger. We've got to talk to Nocturnal Intruder about our secret stakeout location," said Titan Man, entering the chamber. The trepidatious Teen followed.
"Where's Kid Buck?" the trembling Teen couldn't help squeaking.
The leather-creaking form of the President of the COSTUMED SUPERHEROES Club of Century City turned in his chair to face them.
"Kid Buck is handcuffed to an overhead water-pipe in washroom one, under punishment!" the Intruder revealed in a deep, ominous tone. "And I've no more time for the ridiculous antics of any muppet-sidekick!"
"...Ulp..." Teen Ranger swallowed hard, and reached to adjust his Speedo.
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