Supervillain Ch. 02: My First Felony

Chapter 2: My First Felony

Shawn Clemens had me breathing hard and dripping with sweat. Not in the fun way, though. No, he had me hiking in the forest that bordered the west side of town. We'd taken the batteries out of our phones too. Personally, I thought it was overkill, but it was the only way he was willing to talk about our powers.

After we got to a clearing and pitched our tent, Shawn finally opened up. "Have you thought it through?"

"Yeah, Shawn, I have. I was hoping to just keep being a meta secret, maybe go full-time at the cigar shop and take over for my dad when he retires. But you're right, that won't work. Sooner or later I'd let something slip or somebody would notice something, and AHOLE would come for me. And I've seen an AHOLE compound--"

"You've been to one?"

"Not up close or anything. We were on a road trip--I would've been about 5 or something--and I saw this wall in the distance that just went on and on. I asked what it was. Dad said that it was where they locked up the filth. Mom said it was where they trained Aberrants to be superheroes. The sight of the place scared the shit out of me." I took an exasperated breath before continuing. "I don't really know you, Shawn, but I'll do anything to stay out of one of those places. If that means going on the run with a sexy guy I barely know, then that's what I'll do."

"Okay. But just so we're clear, I am talking about being criminals. The normies won't let us earn an honest living, so that just leaves a dishonest one. But that means we have to have some rules so we won't get caught." After he said this, he held up his hand, and a cigar flew into it from his backpack.

"What kind of rules?"

He lit his cigar before answering. "Like I said before, Rule #1 is 'Never speak of your powers if there's the slightest chance of being overheard.' So, if you do need to talk, say something indirect that doesn't draw attention."

I took a drag off of his cigar. "You mean like how in the mafia they supposedly say 'a friend of ours' to mean 'a made man'?"

"Yeah. So instead of saying 'rogue meta' or 'supervillain,' you say 'someone like us' or 'certain people.' Instead of actually mentioning a superpower, you just say what needs to be done without saying how it might be done or who would do it."

I saw an obvious flaw. "But what if it's an emergency, and we don't have time to beat around the bush?"

He considered this a moment. "We probably need to set up some emergency code words. And they'd have to be words we won't forget but wouldn't ever say for any other reason."

I said, "So, like, if we think AHOLE is onto us and there's no escape, we could say 'Heller' because he wrote Catch-22."

Shawn shook his head. "I'd never remember that."

"How about Sartre?"

"The 'hell is other people' guy?" he asked.

"Yeah. It's not the original title, but in English that play is usually called 'No Exit.' So if we say 'Sartre,' it means everything's gone to hell, and there's no way to escape AHOLE."

Shawn thought it over. "Sartre. Yeah, I think that would work. And if we just need to run for it, we could say--hmm."

"You know those stories where people claim they're just going out to buy a pack of cigarettes but never return? I mean, yeah, we both smoke cigars, but neither of us smokes cigarettes, so we'd never say that. So that could be our code phrase when we need to get the hell out of some place."

"Yeah. That works. Sartre and cigarettes."

But we were straying from the topic. I asked, "But back to the rules, what's Rule #2?"

Shawn took a drag and blew out the smoke with an almost angry expression. "Rule #2 is 'Don't ever feel guilty.'"

I wasn't expecting that. "What?"

"We're Aberrant filth, Jessy. That's what they call us. They made it the law that unless we have an AHOLE collar, then any contact of any kind with any normie is a felony." Shawn paused and clenched his fist. "Why should we feel guilty about stealing from them when the normies themselves have made not stealing from them just as illegal? So tomorrow, why don't we go into the city and commit a felony?"

"Such as?"

"Buying an ice cream." Shawn was dead serious when he said this.

"What?"

"For metas, buying an ice cream--hell, just speaking to a normie--is just as much of a felony as murder."

When I'd made that toast to villainy, it was more of a hypothetical. Now it was starting to sink in that he really was talking about being actual criminals. "Well, fuck."

Shawn moved on without further belaboring that point. "Rule #3 is 'Be invisible.' That means no spandex or silly names. We can be supervillains without them."

"Then how do we get away with shit?" I asked and then took another puff from his cigar.

"Can you think of any profession where lying, deceitfulness, and moving from town to town are considered routine and accepted behavior?"

I said, "Politicians? Lawyers?"

"Perhaps, but that would violate Rule #3. Lawyers and politicians get a lot of attention. Try again."

"Preachers?"

Shawn laughed. "I hadn't thought of that, but cigar-smoking, openly gay preachers just might get noticed. Actually, I was thinking of professional gamblers."

"But don't gamblers have to have a bankroll to start with? I hate to break it to you, but I don't exactly make a lot working one day a week at the cigar shop."

Shawn tilted his head slightly. "I started stealing as soon as I got my telekinesis when I was ten, and I've gotten pretty damn good at it. Plus my grandparents left me a bit when they died. So, if I sell the house, I can bankroll us for quite a while."

"Okay, but I've only ever played a couple of hands of poker when my dad taught me. How am I supposed to make a living at it?"

Shawn blew out some smoke with a naughty grin. "We cheat, of course. With your belief control, you can make anyone believe you're bluffing when you have the cards or that you have the cards when you're bluffing. My decision-detection power will always let me know for sure whether someone is bluffing. And my control over odds means I can make sure we win."

I said, "But if we win every hand, they'll know we're cheating, even if they don't know we have powers."

"That's why we deliberately lose or fold on most hands. But since we will be controlling which hands we win, we can still make a killing."

"Even then, though, if we get too many flushes or full houses, they'll suspect something."

"That's why I wouldn't give us good hands; I'd just give everybody else worse hands than ours."

I took one last drag off of Shawn's cigar while I thought about it. "Because who would think you're cheating if you win with a pair of fours?"

"Exactly."

We talked for a while. He told me I'd need to actually study poker strategy and game theory so I could pass for a competent player. Then he abruptly switched topics. "I was serious about tomorrow. We'll drive into the city, and you'll commit a felony."

"Wait, I don't--"

"Would you prefer to 'do the right thing' and turn yourself over to AHOLE? Who knows, maybe you'll be one of the chosen few they put a collar on. Is that what you want? Do you want to wear a collar and be a good dog?"

I'd known about the collars, of course. A small number of metas were allowed off the AHOLE reservations for work if they had some marketable power, but they had to be under guard and wear the AHOLE collar. I hadn't thought about it, but not even the superheroes were exempt, even if their collars were thin and made of gold. I wanted nothing to do with any of it. "No, I don't. I just want to be free."

"Well, that makes you a fugitive." He sighed. "Jessy, I really like you, but I'm putting my life on the line here. If you go around worrying about what's right or wrong, you'll get us both killed. I'm sorry, but if you're not willing to commit a felony, then I'm leaving without you."

Well, shit. Shit, because I knew he was right. I couldn't go to college or have a normal job because I would get caught. Even trying to live in a cave wouldn't work because that kind of thing got reported. Then the naked truth dawned on me: I needed Shawn. Working together, we had a chance of eluding AHOLE--that mattered more than how I felt about him. And at the moment, other than wanting to have sex with him, I didn't know what my feelings for him even were.

"Alright, Shawn. I'll do it. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Actually, it does. It's rather the point. If you're not completely at ease with it, you'll get caught. That's why you need to commit crimes until you no longer feel one way or the other about them. Listen, tomorrow's Sunday. Let's get up early, take my bike into the city, and steal from a church."

"In biker gear? What about Rule #3?"

"Not all churches are snobby. Hell, there's even a biker church."

"Isn't 'church' just what biker clubs call their secret meetings?" (I had seen something about that on a TV show.)

"I guess so, but there really are churches for bikers. But the one I'm thinking of is a megachurch that likes to be 'inclusive.' It even has motorcycle parking spaces."

"So we're going to a real church to commit a crime?" I asked.

"Yeah. And when you're doing it, keep in mind that it's just as much of a felony for people like us to put money into the offering plate as it is to take some out. Besides, if you're villainous enough tomorrow, then we can celebrate by getting rid of your virginity."

We got into the sleeping bags but didn't make out. Our conversation had spoiled the mood, at least for me. Maybe that was why Shawn brought up the sort of topic that could only be had with another meta. "You know, I think I was born with two of my powers already on."

"Really? I was fourteen when I got my first power."

"Well, I'm not sure, but I remember when I was about five, my parents would leave me with babysitters a lot. Most of them were just sort of there, but there was this one guy who would stand on the porch and smoke. Then one night I asked him to let me have a puff."

"You started smoking when you were five?"

Shawn just shrugged. "I guess I must have started at some point, but I've smoked as long as I can remember. Anyway, he called me a name, so I wished something bad would happen to him. His house burned down that very night."

"Couldn't it have been a coincidence?"

"You have powers, so you know that satisfaction you get when you use them. It's kind of like getting a hit of nicotine as your reward for smoking. Well, I felt that when I wished for something bad to happen to him. The same thing happens when I use my power to know what people are really planning to do."

"Well, I don't smoke all that much, but I know that feeling you're talking about. But you said that you were born with two powers already on. How did you get your third?" I asked.

"You know that craving you get to use your powers? Well, when I was ten, I started getting a new craving that wasn't satisfied by smoking or using my other powers. So I just sort of listened to what it was telling me to do, and I did it. That's how I got my telekinesis."

My experience at getting my powers hadn't been like that. They just sort of turned on, and I knew what to do with them. But at least I knew what to look for in case any new powers were lurking around.

We were both tired and didn't say much more after that. He held my hand as we went to sleep.

§§§

It was still dark when we got up the next morning. While we were packing our camping gear, he promised to use his luck-control power to make it extremely likely that I would get a chance to steal the money without getting caught. But once we were leaving the campsite, he insisted that we could no longer speak openly because we might be overheard.

Then we went to his house and got cleaned up. He gave me some of his older biker gear since his current size wouldn't fit me. Then we were off to steal from God himself, or at least a church that claimed that money given to it was money given to God.

The megachurch was indeed diverse and did have parking spots for motorcycles. It would have been easier for me had the sermon been hateful or something, but it was just boring, sugarcoated crap about positive thinking.

There was a couple sitting beside us who had their daughter, maybe a year and a half old, with them. I found their efforts to keep their kid subdued enough for church far more interesting than the sermon.

Then came the part of the service where the ushers stood in the aisles while the parishioners passed the donation plates down the rows. I tried to psych myself up by reminding myself that the law--and probably every normie in the building--held that my being present was a felony, whether I donated money or stole it. 'I can do this,' I told myself.

Just as the plate came in front of the couple, their child dropped an animal cracker and lunged for it. And in doing so, she bumped against the tray, spilling the money onto the pew, the floor, and some of it literally into my lap. The child's father and I started picking it up and putting it back in the tray. I sent a belief compulsion to him that there was some money under the pew in front of us. When he looked under it, I slipped some bills into a pocket.

After the church service let out, I gave Shawn the money. It turned out to be $73. He tucked it away. "Did you know that in this state someone has to steal $1000 for it to count as a felony?"

I noticed how his language had shifted now that we were in public. He didn't mention powers or suggest we might actually commit a crime. Everything was indirect, easily dismissed as small talk. I tried my hand at doing likewise. "Would it still be a felony if someone got that much on the installment plan?"

"It's the thought that counts." I understood what he really meant. As long as I stole $1000 total, he would accept it as my passing the test. We spent a few hours stealing a little here, a little there. Sometimes Shawn would use his powers to make someone drop a $20 bill or something, but he expected me to pick it up and pocket it.

After a while, he said, "Why don't we check out a pawn shop?"

"A pawn shop?"

"Yeah, unless you'd rather keep at this all day."

So we went to one. Most of the stuff there was crap, but there were some gold rings. (I guess watches had gone out of fashion.) I didn't know if he used his telekinesis or his probability manipulation, but he caused a ring to fall off a display and onto my left shoe. I understood it was his final test to see if I could be his partner.

Shawn asked the clerk, "Do you have any cigar cutters?"

I bent down and tucked the ring into my shoe. Fortunately, or maybe by Shawn's powers, it actually did need tying.

The store clerk said, "Strangely enough, yes, but just the one. It might be a bit out of your league; we're asking $600 for it." He showed it to Shawn.

"This is a Fox Virtus Damascus. New, they sell for about half of that. And this isn't new, though it is in good condition. What? You didn't think a 20-year-old would know his cigar accessories?"

The clerk looked a bit surprised but quickly composed himself. "Ah, yes. But, as you can see, it's handmade and quite elegant, which is why we're asking that price."

Shawn frowned. "You are free to ask anything you like, but what you'll get from me is $100. And I don't think you'll be getting a better offer. Or do you often get suckers?"

I couldn't believe it. Here I was, stealing a gold ring, while Shawn was lying about his age and haggling over a trinket I doubted he even wanted.

The store clerk said, "We've got more into it than that. I could go to $400 for you, young man."

Shawn scoffed. "Make that $90--or you can tell the owner that you finally got an offer on this and turned it down."

"Very well." He took the money and gave Shawn the cigar cutter.

After leaving the pawn shop, we walked around the block. I bent down, fidgeted with my shoe, and pulled out the ring. I tried not to look at it overmuch, but it was clearly worth more than $1000. It was a little too loose to fit on my ring finger, so I put it on the middle finger of my right hand. I'd done it. I had committed my first felony.

Shawn squeezed my shoulder. "The time has come to discard your virginity. Where do you want to do it? Some place nasty? Some place nice?"

I grinned. "Well, your place is a bit of both."

We put on our helmets and biked to Shawn's house. When he parked in his garage, I got an inspiration. Instead of getting off the bike with him, I turned sideways and spread my legs. "Here. Now."

"I've always wanted to do it leaning over a bike. Just don't tell your dad because it might ruin his image of me as a 'real man,' but I wasn't joking when I said I'm a total bottom. I don't have all that much experience, but the one time I tried to top, it made my dick wilt."

"Shawn, this really is my first time. But, you know what? I just committed a felony, and I guess I'm feeling like a badass supervillain. Now, get on your knees and suck my cock."

"Let's get you naked first."

He took off my shirt and shoes. I had to get off the bike so he could get my pants off. We kissed, and then I sat on the bike naked. Then he knelt on the floor. He didn't merely suck me; he fucking worshiped my cock. I don't know how I lasted more than a few seconds under his ministrations, but somehow I did.

"I'm close."

Shawn pulled off. "Your turn." Then he stood up and gestured to himself. Taking the hint, I got off the bike and undressed him.

He rubbed his finger along my cheek. "Just relax." Not that he was all that experienced himself, but he did guide me through giving my first blowjob. He stopped me so he could save his orgasm for the main event.

He held out his hand and telekinetically opened the door between the kitchen and the garage. Then a tube of lube came from somewhere in his house and flew into his hand. He smiled and gave it to me. Then he leaned over his bike and presented his ass to me.

When I went to lube his crack, I found that he had a butt plug in. Why hadn't I noticed it before? Curious, I asked him, "Have you had this in all day?"

"I put it in before we left for church."

"You wore it to church?"

"I sure did."

"How positively villainous. And on the bike ride too?"

"Hell yeah. I love riding with one in. Sometimes I cum just from that. Like I told you, I'm all bottom."

I greased myself up. (Yeah, I know. I should have used a condom, but I didn't.) I took his butt plug out with a sort of "plurp" sound and added more lube to his ass.

He said, "Normally, you have to open up the bottom with your fingers, but since I've had a butt plug in, you can skip that part."

So I lined up with his hole and pushed. It took me a few tries because I didn't know what I was doing. But, finally, I got my cock inside him. And, oh boy, was he tight. "Are you okay?"

"Mm-hmm. Just wait a bit so I can get used to it."

I kissed the back of his neck and tongued his ears. With my arms around him from the rear, I played with his nipples.

"Fuck me."

Now, I would like to report that I fucked him for half an hour and brought him to a magnificent and life-altering orgasm. I would like to report that I discovered I had a sex-related superpower. While I am at it, I'd also like to report that all the kittens in the world declared me to be their one true god. But no member of the Felis genus deified me, and I shot my first-ever load into another man in under two minutes.

But I was 18 and had only a passing acquaintance with a thing known as a refractory period. We moved to the bedroom, and I was soon fucking Shawn's ass again. I lasted a more respectable time this second round.

As we lay together in the afterglow, I said, "You made my first time great, really great, but I don't think topping is for me."

He kissed me and said, "We'll make it work. Maybe we could try finding tops to share?"

"Wouldn't you get jealous?"

"Not if we do it together."

To my surprise, I found I rather liked the idea. "Alright then."

§§§

We didn't manage to find time to see each other that following week. He was busy getting ready to put his house on the market, and I was dealing with the school year winding down and graduation coming up. But, as usual, he came into the cigar shop on Saturday while I was working.

"Hey, Shawn. We got in something special. I think you might like it."

"What's that?"

I got one out from the box. "It's not an expensive brand or anything, but it's amazing. It's from a small little family business in Connecticut, run by a nasty-tempered granny if my dad is to be believed. But they smoke really great. They're called Peidos do Diabo, and they're better than Opus X."

"Interesting name." He took the proffered cigar, paid for it, and lit it. "Damn, this is good. I think I have a new favorite."

I wiggled the finger with the ring I'd stolen still on it. "I told Mom and Dad that you got it for me when you officially asked me to be your boyfriend. Now they want to know when you're coming for dinner."

"I'm not housebroken."

"Neither is my dad. You know what he said when you asked me out?"

"No, what?"

"He said that you're a man's man and might even rub off on me."

"Well, in that case, I should definitely come for dinner. What about tonight?"

"They're both out of town. How about next Friday?"

"That'll work."

I sighed and took a drag off of his cigar. "And we're going to have to tell them that we're planning to be professional gamblers instead of going to college."

What we would not be telling my parents--nor could I mention to Shawn just then because we were in public--was that we were supervillains who were actually planning to live a life of crime. I already wore the ring I got by committing my first felony.

No, after all, it was not my first felony. My first felony was being born because I was illegal.