Thought Vomit #144: ft. Sneak Peek 2

Here is a sneak peek of chapter two from my next Kindle book.

Chapter Two

The Common Man hovered amongst the leafy canopy of a tree. He often found himself here after a day’s superheroing. John Smith had not yet assumed a secret identity, nor had he secured a mortgage. So he slept on the moon. The commute was getting to be a pain, so he usually broke it up with a visit to Whiteladies.

This exclusive suburb on the outskirts of the dilapidated Canon City was an opulent extravagance that reminded the ordinary citizens of their grimy lot in life. But it was also home to Leigh Ann Lopez.

Her straight black hair and olive skin captivated John Smith for reasons he had yet to fathom. Whenever her huge brown eyes fixed on him before snapping a photo, he felt dull aches in his loins that never got boring. And her tight pencil skirts were positively pornographic.

They’d met a dozen times, though it’s possible she would only remember two. She had a habit of turning up with her camera and throwing him off his stride. To his mind he was here to make an offer, but in reality he just hovered in the tree each night, staring through her walls as he summoned up the courage to approach her.

It was true he needed to raise his profile in Canon City. Elaine had entrusted him with a sacred mission, and he couldn’t very well do that with men screaming that he was a freak every time he saved the city from disaster. To be a beacon, he needed respect. It was one of the first thing’s Elaine had taught him.

So, here he was, hovering in a leafy tent, biding his time before making his move. It was irrelevant that he was here just as she was getting ready for bed. Coincidence. As it was every night.

She perched herself on the corner of her mattress and began to idly undo the buttons of her silk blouse. That was her usual routine, before she wandered into the bathroom to slip into her robe. The lead piping in her ancient house meant he never got to see anything.

But tonight, for once, she let the silk slip free from her shoulders and fall behind her on to the bedding. Her light brown skin looked so smooth and flawless, and the peach coloured lace cups of her bra contrasted so well with her complexion.

The Common Man wondered why his x-ray vision couldn’t penetrate cotton. Such an odd limitation. Lead made sense after all. Never mind. John Smith bobbed in the air, enjoying his treat.

But when she reached round behind her back and unclipped the bra, things began to go wrong. The cups fell away and afforded him the view he craved. And he’d craved it so much that the sudden treasures before his eyes caused the dull stirrings in his loins to do funny things to his body.

He heard the Lycra tearing at his groin as the spikes of his now tumescent member cleft his suit in twain. The fault line it caused began to spread as the elastic material gave way, snapping in half. Suddenly naked, save for cape and thong, John Smith felt the cold night air on his skin, as the Lycra hung limply from the thong’s waistband at his hips.

But he didn’t care. He was mesmerised by Leigh Ann’s nipples.

Below him, a familiar, but equally non-descript man bellowed up at him from the ground.

“What the fuck are you doing now you freak?”

“Don’t worry ma’am,” he coughed, then with a more manly voice added, “Official business.”

“Unbelievable,” the non-descript Gent shook his head as he wandered away muttering to himself.

When John Smith looked back at Leigh Ann, she was on her feet, her back to him, reaching back to unzip her skirt. It fell away to reveal a thong as skimpy as his; only hers was peach coloured to match her bra.

The globes of her buttocks were so alluring he wanted to sink his teeth into the flesh.

Things went from bad to worse.

John Smith’s stomach tightened and his muscles began to twitch. With a violent throbbing pulse, his penis coughed up something with such force it shot across the road and blasted through the brickwork. Framed in the hole, he saw Leigh Ann dive out of the way just in time, as it continued on through the walls.

He looked down at his wilting member. That was new. Though he wasn’t sure how useful a super power it would prove to be. When his gaze returned to the house, he saw Leigh Ann staring out at him wide-eyed. And naked.

John Smith felt another time reversal coming on.

And the munchies.

Then a nap.

Shame and guilt began to engulf him as he shrunk beneath her glare. He started to mutter an apology, but realised she was focused on something behind him. Swivelling in the air slowly, he turned to see the house behind him had exploded.

That couldn’t be coincidence.

It slowly dawned on him that his outburst had orbited the planet at supersonic speed, leaving God knows how much destruction in its wake, before smashing into the building behind him.

He brazened it out.

With a sonic boom, he burst forward, grabbing Leigh Ann by the waist and followed the trail of destruction, doing his best to repair things as he blasted through the air. Her naked frame bent round his shoulder as the force of the wind folded her double, and his eyes flicked from her naked behind to the damage.

He rebuilt walls throughout Canon City, crossed the English Channel, repaired the Eiffel Tower, continued through Europe and across continents and oceans, with such speed and ferocity Leigh Ann passed out.

When he finally set her down on her lawn, he used the time it took for her to regain consciousness to repair his suit. Her big brown eyes widened as she blinked awake.

“What happened?” her voice was gravelly and dry.

“Meteor strike.”

She smacked her lip and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, shaking herself back to life. It took her a moment to find the words, and when they came they were still raw and croaky, “You’re underpants are on inside out.”

The Common Man sniffed indignantly, but flicked his eyes down to see the label dangling from his crotch. He’d rebuilt and repaired a large area of property, and all she could do is mock his pants.

“Sorry,” she shook her head again, “I’m a little discombobulated.”

“Nothing to ashamed of sir,” he said, holding his hand out so she could pull herself to her feet, “We’re all discombobulated beneath our clothes.”

Her eyes narrowed and she furrowed her brow. With a little swallow, she took a moment to look down herself. Her hands slapped to her chest and covered her breasts in embarrassment. Then one hand snapped down and cupped between her legs as she bent double and threw her arms across her boobs.

“Jesus,” she hissed, “Give me your fucking cape.”

He tugged it from his shoulders reluctantly and draped it around her frame. She clutched it to her naked skin tightly and ran back to the house. John Smith followed with a commanding stride. He didn’t have time to stop when she slammed the door shut, and crashed right through it, blasting splinters of wood through her hallway.

With a shriek of exasperation, she spun on her heels and kicked him hard in the shins. He didn’t flinch, and watched in fascination as she grabbed her foot with a holler and began hopping around in pain. The cape fell to the floor, and John Smith became mesmerised by her bouncing bosoms.

It was only when she hopped her foot right into a large wooden splinter that he was shaken from his reverie. He scooped her in to his arms, and carried her through to the living room as she beat her fist on his chest, screaming words he didn’t really recognise.

When he dropped her on the sofa, she bounced on the cushions. He sat at her feet and tugged out the long slither of pine. The sound she made was piercing, but he leant down to plant a healing kiss on the wound. The flesh began to knit itself back together, and her pain was clearly subsiding.

“What is wrong with you?” she barked, grabbing a cushion to hide her dignity.

John Smith finally let his shoulder slouch, dropping his head with a heavy sigh. “Just trying to help,” he muttered.

“Well, don’t,” but she began to defrost slightly. She gave him a light friendly kick in the ribs.

He didn’t react.

So she kicked him again.

Automatically, his hand flicked out and caught her foot in a steely grip. He regretted his reflexes the moment he heard the bones breaking. The time it took her nervous system to react was interminable, before finally she let out an agonised howl.

With a shrug, he blew into her face, and she passed out.

Perhaps he planted a dozen too many healing kisses on her foot, and maybe it wasn’t totally necessary to suck each and every one of her toes, but he wanted to be sure she was no longer in pain when he bought her round. Before he did, he draped his cape over her then went and sat in another chair.

His icy breath woke her up with a shiver, and she clutched the cape tighter again. His distance provided her some comfort, but she still eyed him warily. Finally, she asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m The Common Man,” he mumbled.

“Yes, I know that,” she sighed, “I mean, are you human or what?”

“Are their humans like me?” he suddenly perked up.

“No,” she shook her head to bat away the daft question, and his mood sank once more, “Where are you from?”


“And why are you here?”

He blinked. Then blinked some more. “To help.”

“To help with what?”

He sat, staring at his boots intently. When he finally formulated an answer, he looked up to see she’d gone. Confused, he got to his feet and wandered out into the hallway. Leigh Ann was not in her kitchen, nor anywhere downstairs, so he ascended the stairs.

He finally found her in bed. Asleep.

She awoke when he perched on the mattress beside her. The little gasp she gave quickly turned into another sigh.

“I thought you’d shut down or something,” she said groggily.

“I was thinking.”

“For six hours?”

He twitched his shoulders and extended his lower lip.

“Fine,” she rubbed her eyes, “What did you conclude?”

“I forgot the question.”

Leigh Ann threw her head back into the pillow with an exasperated yelp, then let out a little giggle. He didn’t understand her at all, and it irked him.

“Fine,” she sat up, “Are you here to say, solve the Middle East?”

Those words didn’t mean anything to him, and so just made him shrug again.

“Okay. To eradicate famine?”

“Is Famine a villain?”

“No sweetie,” she patted his hand, which made him feel nice, “Are you here to sell action figures?”

“I’m here,” he realised, standing up so he could put his hands on his hips, “To unite humanity.”

Leigh Ann started laughing, so John Smith looked down to check his penis wasn’t doing that thing again.

“Oh,” she coughed, “You’re serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

John Smith snatched his cape from the chair beside her bed and swung it round his shoulders. It took him a moment, but he managed to open the window and step up on to the ledge ready to make his aerial exit.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” she suppressed a giggle. “Let’s do an interview for the paper.”


My first book Rotten Apple is available now from Amazon US or Amazon UK.

How do you like them apples?
You know it's funny, it says so on the cover

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