It was seven months since my strange experience. I do not regret what I have done. If my fundie parents knew, they would tell me I am damned to Dante's ninth hell. But they will not know, they cannot know, that I have secretly slept with a woman.

I am very young in fact. Eighteen years to be precise. Every evening I walk through the slummier parts of town neglecting my studies, taking in the raw suburbian sunset, trying to discern just what it is that makes this world tick. I wanted to uncover some new idea, some underlying principle of moral philosophy that had been overlooked by scientists and artists.

During one such walk my thoughts were interrupted by the sight of an uncommonly beautiful woman. She was dressed entirely in black, tight clothing, and her black hair was long and shiny. The woman's ethnicity seemed to be European. Her bright red lipstick made me excited.

Later that evening I met a scraggly down-and-outer. Such men are not uncommon in our impoverished times. He wore sunglasses, so I could not make out the character of his eyes.

"God bless you. Spare some change?" he said.

I took out my wallet and leafed through it. My mother had given me thirty dollars in pocket money. A twenty, a five, and five ones. Not wanting to give the beggar too much money, I began sorting the bank notes in order to get hold of three ones. I gave them to him.

"This is all I have," I said.

That was a mistake. He must have seen my twenty. He took out a knife.

"You're lying. Give me all the cash you have, and nobody gets hurt."

I do not need to write that I was scared. I had never been so scared in all my life. Tears were welling up in my eyes, intense fear of death. My tremulous hand went for my wallet, ready to hand him the money, anything for life.

But I did not have the chance to give him the money. The stunning woman I had seen earlier had kicked the knife out of his hand in a flash. I was not familiar with the martial art she practiced, but she had my assailant unconscious before I could gather my thoughts at any level.

"Thank you," I managed to say.

The woman said nothing, but took me by the hand. We walked for a while. She offered me a cigarette in the meantime which I declined. She proceeded to smoke it. The bluish smoke went to my face with the wind, and I coughed. Seeing her through the smoke only made her more attractive.

"What's your name?" I finally asked.

"Moira." Her delicate British accent made me shake all over.

We walked into a shabby hotel, and she let me into her suite. After telling me to be patient and wait for her to change out of her leather clothes into something more comfy, she went in the bathroom.

When she came out, she was wearing a colorful caped outfit with a black mask. It had an "S" sewn onto the spot right beneath her cleavage.

"I am SuperSex!" she shouted. "I am a sexual hero who deflowers young virgins. Moira was my secret identity, my nom de plume!"

With that SuperSex removed her pants. The sight of her black thong gave me a fresh shipment of wood. After letting me drool at it for a good five minutes, she removed that too.

What I saw when I glanced at her nakedness would leave an indelible imprint on my fresh young mind. Beneath a magnificently hairy bush was a wet, pink, little thing all moist and ready for my pubescent wood. Some poets call it the vulva.

I rushed at her with my fifteen-inch rod and perfectly tapped the bulls eye. She moaned in pleasure. Cape on and all she flew out through the window through the open air with me still pounding at her pussy.

"I'm hanging on your pussy flying through the air!" I roared in pleasure.

Since it was my first time, with the wind flowing against my dick, it did not take me long to cum. The cum was a kind of rain from her sweet pungent cunt during our flight. We arrived at a mechanical fortress in the sky that violated every known law of thermodynamics.

We landed on the spaceport of the flying fortress, my over stimulated cock squeezed under her plump yet beautiful ass.

"This is Avalon," she said to me, her breathing almost painful from second orgasm.

"Moira, I love you!" I exclaimed. The city around us was populated by similarly clad women, their twats showing, none of them as lovely as Moira. That night I had sex with twenty of them, but in the morning I made love to Moira again.

That afternoon Moira--or SuperSex, I should say--had to go to work, so she dropped me off via pussy-flight in my backyard. I wept to hear her goodbye.

"Don't worry, we'll fuck again."

And we did. One time my parents almost caught us. But eventually I dumped her 'cause she was getting kind of clingy.

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