Tag: covid

Superman, Patient Zero

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Sick beaten alone superman | Dc comics superman, Superman art, Superman comic

If people treated Superman like he had a disease they’d catch by being saved by him, would he keep doing it? Or would they be frightened, running from the man as strong as a bull and fast as a locomotive, while he tried to grasp their hands to pull them up? Would he pick his battles? I have this idea that Supes is the kind of guy who moves on instinct. He doesn’t think that much about what he does. He’s just Clark without his glasses on, putting his foot in his mouth, like a star athlete who’s soft spoken and kind. He doesn’t really know what he means to other people. He hears everything we whisper to each other. He tries to respect our privacy, but he doesn’t always. What’s the harm? If he moves so fast you can’t see him peek over your shoulder to read your text? He only wants to be sure you’re safe. And to be in on the joke. Superman likes to laugh. He has a great sense of humor. Is he happy? No. He’s busy. There’s work to be done. Even moving faster than light, he can only be in so many places at a time, even if he sends robots to fill in the gaps. He goes to the Fortress of Solitude and watches the old crystal tapes his Dad Jor-el sent him all those years ago. He seems so regal, so magnificent, and human at the same time, vulnerable. He talks to the hologram sometimes. He’s even yelled at him. He wants answers, and there will be none forthcoming from old, dead Jor-el.

“Why am I like this, Dad? Why is always only me out there? They’re all scared of me. They don’t trust me. I hear them calling me ‘alien, freak, infected.’ I have to watch the world burn to ash and I can only sweep up the pieces. They’re all dying and I’m not. Luthor says I don’t really care, that it’s just part of my programming, how my genetic code was designed to replace humanity, and that there are millions of Kryptonian matrices waiting to be deployed to rocket to the earth, once I’ve subdued it. It’s not true, is it, Dad? You would never do that. You’re not a parasite, a selfish murdering bully like Luthor. “

“It’s the greatest irony, Dad, I’m supposed to be invulnerable, but everything hurts me. Every look, every word, every misunderstanding, every passive aggressive gesture, I see it and treasure it in my heart. What good is it being the strongest man in the world if everybody hates you? If it were all a dream, if there was another pretender masquerading as savior, and I could be just a guy, an ordinary guy, what would that feel like? “

“Lois … sold me out, Dad. She gave my secret identity to Luthor for the chief job at the Daily Planet. I feel like an idiot. Everyone’s in danger now.”


“Is there someone like me, out there, alive today, who understands how this hurts? To want to help, to interact, to relate, not to hurt, but to mend. Luthor’s made everyone believe the epidemic is a Kryptonian superbug. It’s not.”


“They wanted to make me king. Give the keys to me, let me rule the world. I said, “no, not for me, thanks, I’m not an administrator.” I laughed, but they turned on me then, I know they did. When I wouldn’t tell them what to do. When they realized I wasn’t anything special, just a humble citizen doing his best to help people. I just thought if I did good in the world, Dad, it would lead to something. I would go somewhere, and the clouds would open, and a plan would unfold. I would know who I was and what I was supposed to do. But that’s not what happened.”


“I had a dream that everyone I had tried to please for so long had forgotten me. They didn’t recognize me, even after I told them my name and where we knew each other from. The one guy who was friendly to me, he was just using me to get him pipe tobacco, and when his car got stolen, I felt a little guilty, but I thought it was what he deserved.”


“You’ll always remember them, but they won’t remember you. You’re still frozen with them in the past.
What am I supposed to do? Hide? Leave those creeps in charge?”


And Jor-el’s hologram solemnly intones: “Everybody doesn’t have to love you, Kal. Most of them will despise you. You think people like those who are better than them?”

A Dish Best Served Cold, Chapter 2

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I woke in agony; my guts clenching with terror. Panting, I felt the sheets, twisted and sweaty.  Was my conscience awakening, after all this time? 

I felt for Francesca in the dark. “Babe, can you wake up for a minute?” I found her shoulder and squeezed it gently. She murmured as I switched on the light.

“What is it, Hermie?” She brushed her hair out of her eyes. She was spooning the soundly sleeping Dove, her gorgeous twenty year old intern, who we’d been sharing that night. Francesca is a conceptual artist, and her videos of our sexual exploits are part of an exhibit she’s been developing for years. 

“I had the worst dream. Hellfire, laughing devils, I was being torn to shreds. I think I’m feeling guilty. I never feel guilty. Was I wrong, fucking Carly like that?”

“Herman, you are a beautiful man who has had a terrible year. 2020 has been such a drain. You’ve had so many overnights, double shifts, you might get kind of manic sometimes. Honestly? I think they were into it. I would’ve said something if I didn’t think so. You need to rest.” 

She had a point. Tom and I are pulmonary/critical care physicians at a major metropolitan hospital center. COVID has been so exhausting, physically, mentally, emotionally. We had lost colleagues, friends, neighbors, and worked ourselves raw. “It’s usually fun and games, what we do. This feels different.” 

“Wasn’t it something about the masks?” Dove offered, still half asleep. Dove was the daughter of one of my ICU nurses, a proud single mother, and a promising art major on scholarship to the best university in our region. Francesca had been the one to bring her into our lovemaking, first fucking her in the laundry room. She was still getting course credit for her time here.  

“It started with the mask disagreement. Lots of people have been eating during the conferences, and he went off on me in front of everyone. I get it; the masks are essential for stopping the virus. But I was twelve feet away from everyone, and those meeting go on forever. I had just had to re-intubate someone, too, who I had promised to get out of the hospital.” 

Francesca stroked my hair. “You use sex as a weapon. We get that. Everyone has a kink. Like you always say, ‘if we’re all getting fucked, we might as well enjoy it, right?’”

I’d found medicine so frustrating as a profession. Knowing the exact right answer still meant little compared to the weight of human depravity and limited resources. I kept getting these ‘rage boners.’ The sadomasochism that Francesca and I performed allowed me to express that anger in a self contained manner. In these lucid moments, I know I’m a narcissist and suspect I’m a sociopath. That said, I’m trying to make it all work. There has to be a balance, otherwise, I’m just a monster.

“Sometimes I think I want a war. I want an enemy to fight. Medicine is unsatisfying because you’re fighting someone who’s a victim, and there’s nothing to hit. It’s nobody’s fault, and I’m the one to picking up the pieces. When we use manipulation to build up peoples egos and then pull the floor out from under them, and we take advantage of their selfishness, loneliness, jealousy, we can fight and win without actually shedding a drop of blood.”

Dove yawned. “Herman, that video was totally hot. Francesca made me come three times while we were watching it. When you grabbed her by the neck and pulled her off your dick …” Dove bit her lip and moaned. I noticed the covers were rustling softly around Dove’s waist. I looked into Francesca’s eyes and grinned, then leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.

“You two, I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m not revenge fucking anymore. I want to reconnect with the intimacy and the sense of fun that I used to have. I spend way too much effort on mind games and manipulation.

“Babe, you really think they weren’t into it?” Francesca asked. Dove was quietly gasping now, likely finger fucked by Francesca under the covers.  “You could always just call and apologize. She nuzzled Dove’s ear, and bit it, gently. “Darling, my husband is so preoccupied with his newfound guilt that he’s ignoring your sweet little pussy. Let’s help him find it, shall we?” She reached down and pulled the blanket away from the nude Dove in a single motion. Francesca had three fingers inside her, fucking her briskly. She slowed down, shifted her arms, reached between Dove’s thighs, and firmly spread her legs apart.  

My mouth dropped open, watering, and I had my boxers off to free my erect cock in an instant. I crawled over to them. “Dove, dear, your pussy is so tempting. But I’m afraid the woman of the house gets first dick.” The two women giggled, and I put one hand down to test Francesca’s snatch. It was warm, wet, and open. I fit my cock into Francesca; after all these years, our privates know each other better than anyone. I grasped Dove by the waist, bringing her open pussy onto my lower abdomen and pubis, so that I was rubbing her clit and pussy as I fucked her boss.

Francesca was necking with Dove, and I stroked the young woman’s chest lightly as she undulated.

Read Chapter 1: https://hermanshermitage.com/2020/12/22/a-dish-best-served-cold/