SUBURBAN LEGENDZ: A CAPED BOY

 

Previous Interview: A Fly Boy 

 

 “Wait, so you think it was me?” He sat there perched in fresh, immaculate sneakers, cape flowing down. Viens travelled up his sculpted arms as he wore nary a thing.

“No, I know the disappearance on 243 Baker Street had nothing to do with you.” I stood there. taking notes. I had enough evidence similar to my last interview to draw my conclusion. In truth I barely had to ask any questions. This young man was an open book, and not in the way my last interview had been. I barely needed to ask questions because this man’s personality said it all.

“But maybe you should tell me what is your fault?” I stated.

“Oh okay, ummmm…” voice as innocent as a new day, he looked toward the sky in sincere thought. “I think it started with Mr. Ramirez. He was the first one I found that needed my help. Though his name was something else before, isn't Ramirez cooler?” He smiled, satisfied with himself. “He was sitting on a park bench watching men jog by. He longed to feel the wind on his body again, but he was old and couldn’t move like that anymore. That’s when I came in and stood in front of him; I had to save him. He was all like ‘young man, where are your clothes?’” A giggle escaped the young man, knowing he had done something naughty by approaching the guy. “So, I use my hot man vision—

“You’re what?”

“My ‘hot man' vision. Like a superhero, but no cool lasers, I look at guys and they get hot. But only to those who need it. And Mr. Ramirez needed it BAD. Not because he was ugly or anything, and even those who are don’t always need me.”

“It’s because he was calling for your help, from inside himself.” I answered and the young man smiled brightly. I was starting to get a picture of how he operated.

“Exactly!” He hopped down off the ledge, a gust blew his cape in the wind, showing off his white undies. “So, Mr. Ramirez doesn’t notice when his hair starts coming back, or his deep voice starts smoothing out. THEN BAM! His pecs burst out his shirt, and he started apologizing with two bean bags there. The back hunch was gone, knee replacement at 40 never happened. His clothes were destroyed by his body enhancing, but he did get new shorts and shoes. The new guy I saved stood up and said ‘Thank you’ but I could tell he didn’t remember why... The man was probably 30, he did some stretches, then was off jogging. It was the first time I was proud of myself.”

“Yeah, but seeing how you said that was the first, you didn’t stop there did you?” I went on.

“Yup, there were a lot of people after that, but I think I remember ... what was her name Gretta, Gretchen?” He shrugged his strong shoulders dismissing her name. “It was the first time a woman needed my help. A single mom, with two boys, the terror twins,people called them. Disastrous blond tornadoes that seriously were too old to be so destructive. When she answered the door for me, I knew she was shocked, I wasn’t what she expected for a babysitter. Though I didn’t remember ever saying I was. Maybe she thought if I looked so cool her boys would be worse.”

My eyes watched as the young man lifted his leg to stretch, while talking. His bulge sat out, like a scene stealer. I highly doubted the mother was concerned about him being ‘too cool’, when he strutted about the place in underwear. Probably more worried he’d devolve the boys further. I had the personal notion to stuff his pouch in my mouth but maintained myself. This young man was either completely unaware, or uninterested in the allure he had.

 

I looked up and his eyes were on me, but he went on, “So she let me in and it was like after a tornado; stuff everywhere: books, paper, clothes, and toys all about. She called for the boys, but they didn’t come. She apologized but said she had to run out. Her cry for help was as strong as ever. Once she was gone, I sprang into action and ran up the stairs. By the time she came back she had two older brothers helping to support her. They were calm, collected, covered in blond chest hair. The new twins stand as tall as 6’4” now and are pure muscle, great for hard tasks. Though the men were confused why we were all standing around in our underwear.”  The young man pouted a bit, “I don't know why they were comparing my underwear that fit, to the tiny things they had on. Their asses wanted to snap out, and their cocks were spilling out the front. Not even the same, mine fit perfectly.” He threw his cape behind his back, another full free showing. “It’s weird, I had thought my job was to bring fun, but those guys needed the exact opposite.”

The story was done. I peered at the young man. I couldn’t crack the mystery of him. Didn’t even have a name to theorize from. A college student at a frat toga party gone wrong? A kid who wanted to be a superhero a bit too much? No leads. No answer. And what was the lesson suburban young people were supposed to learn from him? Don't give into hedonistic lifestyles? Don’t live in fantasy? I couldn’t subscribe to any of it, but the young people ate up the fear like fresh fruit. Ridiculous. 

There was one thing I got from the stories: his compulsion to save led to all his encounters. What happened at 243 Baker Street was nothing like that. No ‘saving’ happened there. Perhaps more of a punishment. After a re-examination of the events that was my current conclusion. A house that still sat in its suburban neighborhood empty. I had found another one of these boys, but he wasn't the culprit either. If there were two, how many more men were out there like them? 

“Do you have everything you need?” The young man asked. “There’s someone who needs my help.”

“Yes, I’m good, thank you. It’s been a pleasure.” I started to walk away, but took one last look. He stood there tall. I drank in his form and thought, just maybe he was a hero.