Super Sister 9 Lois Lane Comes to Smallville
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Super-Sister #8: Cheer, Cheer For Old Smallville free porn video
Super-Sister #8: Cheer, Cheer for Old Smallville
By Heather St. Claire
"In Smallville one day, the people blink in disbelief as they see a girl
dressed in the super uniform of Superboy, patrolling in his place! You
will be even more amazed to enter the privacy of the Kent home to find a
daughter living with mom and dad! Yes, the most freakish twist of fate
imaginable changes the boy of steel into a lass of steel, when Clark Kent
becomes...Claire Kent, alias Super-Sister!"
September 7, 1970. From the diary of Martha Ross: All of my friends
complain about their parents. It's what you do when you're fifteen, right?
I've got to say mine are pretty groovy, though. My dad Pete is a great guy
and my mother Claire is out of this world, and not in the way you might
think. I mean she literally is not from the Earth. She was born on the
planet Krypton. When she isn't changing into her cape, tights and boots so
she can save the world as Superwoman she's taking care of me, dad and my
annoying twin brother Bill. Oh yeah, there's one other really amazing
thing about her: for the first fifteen years of her life, she was a boy.
(I mean, come on. Really? But I swear it's all true)
One of the many things I admire about my mother is how normal she really
is. She's still a pretty attractive woman for someone who is approaching
forty. Even though the family supermarket is one of the most successful
businesses in town, she doesn't dress or act rich at all. Her clothes are
tasteful and classic. She drives an eight-year-old station wagon. We live
in a nice, but not at all fancy, ranch house. She's president of the
women's club at church, a member of the PTA, helps with the United Fund
every year. In short, she's the all-American mom.
Grandma Martha, who I was named after, and my late Grandpa Jonathan always
made sure she lived as ordinary a life as possible. They said she really
couldn't help the human race and be its protector unless she was a part of
it. I'm so glad Grandma is part of my life; I wish I could have known
grandpa, but he died when I was just two years old.
I'm learning new things about my mom all the time. Tonight, I came home
from my first day as a sophomore at Smallville High. I had a flyer for
rally tryouts and I told mom and dad I want to be a cheerleader. Mom
stopped chopping the carrots for the soup she was making. She smiled, got
a wistful look on her face and said, "I was a cheerleader myself."
That news surprised me. "But mom, I thought you always did everything you
could to stay out of the spotlight."
She chuckled. "Oh dear, that's true, I did. I really did. But your Aunt
Lana really put me on the spot. During the first football game of our
senior year, in the fall of '48, one of the opposing players came crashing
into our cheer squad when he got out of control trying to avoid a tackle.
Poor Lisa Davis, who was killed the next spring, took the direct hit. Her
leg was broken, and that finished her for the season. Lana, who was the
cheer captain, really started pressuring me to turn out as a fill-in.
"When I was Clark, I always shied away from athletics. I always figured it
would be too easy for me to do something that was impossible for a normal
person, but this was different. Don't get me wrong. Cheerleading takes
athleticism, too. But it's more about grace and timing and working
together as a unit, instead of raw speed and power. Anyway. She kept
telling me, 'It will be so much fun Claire It's your senior year and
you'll never have this chance again.' When she saw she wasn't getting
anywhere, she appealed to my school spirit and our friendship. Well,
eventually she wore me down. I thought ma and pa still might say no, but
they were all for it. Did you know your grandpa Kent, Smallville class of
1903, was part of the rally squad? So you can be a third generation
cheerleader."
I must have had a shocked look on my face, but before I could say
anything, Dad chimed in. "Cheerleading didn't really become dominated by
girls until the last world war," he said. Now it was his turn to smile. "I
can't say I was disappointed when your mom agreed to join the squad. After
all, I had a great view of all their routines--from my permanent seat at
the end of the bench!"
"Oh, Petey!" my mom responded, clearly exasperated. "Every other man
exaggerates his athletic feats. The more their career recedes into the
past, the better a player they become. But with you, it's the opposite.
Remember that touchdown you scored against Granville?"
"Let them have their fun, and I'll have mine. Anyway, it sure gave me a
thrill the first time I saw your mother walk out on the field in the
school colors, carrying pom poms."
Mom chimed in: "Oh yes, the red skirt and the goldenrod sweater with a big
red 'S' on it."
"Big red S?" I asked, laughing.
Mom smiled. "Don't laugh! That's one of the reasons I was reluctant to go
out. I didn't want people to see Claire Kent with a red S on her chest and
think, gee, there's something familiar about this. Those outfits are
pretty tame compared to the ones today. We wore saddle shoes, just like in
class. Our wool skirts fell just below the knee, and our sweaters were
bulky. Nowadays they're out there in those thin tops that leave nothing to
the imagination, tiny pleated skirts and go-go boots."
"Oh, that reminds me, mom, can I borrow your boots? They said we need red
boots!" She rolled her eyes. I didn't think parents were allowed to roll
their eyes at their children. I assumed it was a one-way thing. Before she
could get too far along the topic of today's skimpy outfits, I asked her
to tell me more about her time as a cheerleader.
"Well." She smiled and paused for a long time. "it was a lot of fun.
Really a lot of fun. Not just the games, but the pep rallies, decorating
player's lockers, making banners...I really got into the part. I wore my
cheer outfit to class as often as I could, often with your father's
letterman's sweater draped over my shoulders. I'd always pretend I was
cold, even though cold doesn't affect me. The cheerleaders held slumber
parties on Saturday nights following the Friday games. It was fun just
being one of the girls, painting each others' nails, staying up until the
wee hours of the morning talking."
"What did you talk about?" my dad asked.
My mother and I exchanged an expression that conveyed the dense nature of
the male mind. "Everything!" we cried in unison.
Mom continued: "That February, I even handed out the cutest little
valentines. They had a fuzzy black bear holding a megaphone and saying,
'Please cheer me up! Be my valentine!'"
"So you got to blend in?"
She smiled. "Yes, dear, I guess that was a big part of it. I got to feel
like more like a regular student, less like an outsider in disguise. But
there were still challenges. Lana kept trying to get me to go out on the
field without my glasses, but I had to put my foot down there. I told her
I was blind without them. "
"Your disguise. But mom, I have to say, I've always wondered why a pair of
glasses is enough to keep people from figuring our you're Superwoman?"
"Honey, it's more than just the glasses. It's the way you dress, the way
you speak, the way you carry yourself. You're seen Superwoman in action.
She's pretty bold, don't you think? She takes charge of every situation."
I nodded. At first I thought it was odd to hear my mother talk about
herself in the third person. Then I realized she thought of herself as
Claire Ross. Superwoman was a masquerade, an identity she had adopted for
the public. "Yes, you--she--does take charge." I giggled. "I wonder what all
the feminists would say if they knew Superwoman was really June Cleaver at
home?"
"They'd probably try to get me to burn my bra. But there is NO WAY that is
going to happen." She pointed at her ample chest. "I NEED my bra!" (Is it
wrong for a girl to be jealous of her own mother's endowments? I mean,
like, it's bad enough that she's got these perfect nails that never break
and she never, ever has to shave her legs because her hair doesn't grow
under a yellow sun.)
"So why the long skirts back then, anyway, mom?"
"Modesty, honey. Modesty. Think about all the pyramids and jumps. They
didn't want any of the boys to get a look anywhere they weren't supposed
to be looking!" My dad immediately adopted an expression of exaggerated
innocence. "Not that any of our boys would have had such thoughts," she
added with a smile. "Now will you please set the table and call your
brother? Supper is ready!"
We talked about lots of things over the dinner table, but one thing I
didn't bring up is the one subject that always leads to a fight: my desire
to follow in my mother's footsteps as a crime-fighter. Bill and I are only
half-blooded Kryptonians, so we didn't inherit mom's full slate of powers.
We can't fly, we don't have super-vision and we're not invulnerable. But
we're stronger and faster than anyone else in the school, we can leap
great distances and we're extraordinarily tough. (I remember dad once
marveling, "nothing short of a bursting shell could penetrate their
skin."). Bill seems happy just to be the standout athlete at Smallville
High, but there aren't any girl's sports programs other than field hockey,
and I aspire to something more. I want to make a difference. Mom was doing
super-feats as a teenager. So was Cousin Kara once she landed on Earth,
but she's also full-blooded Kryptonian.
I have to admit that I'm jealous of both of them. What I'd give to
experience those kinds of powers. Well, I did, once, about three years ago
when Red Kryptonite caused me and mom to swap bodies. (Of course all I
ended up doing as a 12-year-old in an adult body was save the planet, but
that's another story!)
I'm also jealous of Kara because she's got a hot, exotic boyfriend. So
what if he has green skin and lives in the 30th century? That just adds to
his sexiness, in my book. I once asked mom why, when she had her
adventures with the Legion of Super-Heroes, she never went for Brainiac 5
herself, or maybe Mon-El? Mon-El is such a hunk. "Remember, I thought Mon-
El and I were related for a while, and it would have been hard to shake
that," she told me. "Kara had her mitts on Querl (Braniac 5's real name)
right from the start. And besides, I was already sweet on your dad." It's
fun for me to daydream, but frankly, I think dad and mom would have major
strokes if I even came home with a boyfriend with brown skin, let alone
green. It's not that they're prejudiced or anything. It's just that they
are SOOO traditional.
You know, I think Brainiac 5 is a big reason why Kara seems to spend more
time in the 30th century than the 20th. Maybe that and the fact that she
and mom don't always get along so well. They've had their....issues through
the years, but they genuinely love each other.
My parents both care so much about helping others. I don't understand why
they won't let me put my talents to work in this way. But that's a subject
for another evening.
The conversation eventually returned to my parents' high school years. My
mother nodded in my father's direction.
"Bill, Martha," she said. "You know how I've told you that any truly good
marriage is a partnership? That each person makes the other person better?
That's the way it's always been for your father and me. Even before I knew
he knew my secret identity, he was there for me, creating distractions and
diversions so I could do my job as Superboy and Super-Sister."
Pete Ross laughed. "It could get me in trouble, though. Remember the next
to last football game of our senior year?"
Mom picked the story right up. "How could I forget? That was the first
year we had lights on Arnold Field, and was only the fourth night game
ever. We were leading Middleton 13-10 at the half when the team heard a
bulletin on the radio about a riot at the men's state prison. I didn't
know because the cheerleaders were on the field, and my super-intuition
wasn't activated because no women were in immediate danger, only the male
guards. I still remember the routine we were in the middle of:
"'Come on crowd get ready! 'Cause we've just begun to prove to you again,
why we're number one!' We were right in the middle of our jump when the
lights went out."
"What do you mean? Why?"
Dad spoke up. "It was me. The only way I could figure for your mom to get
away to stop the riot was to sneak out of the locker room and shut down
the lights. It worked. I was able to let her know what was going on, and
she was on her way and had things under control within minutes. The only
problem was, the lights took so long to warm up, they had to postpone the
end of the game until the following afternoon. The Middleton coach was
furious. He demanded that the officials forfeit the game to his team.
That's when I stepped forward and confessed that I had shut off the
lights."
My mother's indignation all these years later was still clear: "Yes, and
you got suspended for the final game of the season and didn't get your
senior letter as a result."
My dad smiled. "Yes, dear. But I saved the team from a forfeit. We played
the second half the next afternoon and shut them out, winning 27 to 10,
which made their coach even madder. I probably wouldn't have gotten off
the bench in that last game anyway. I hurt my knee in practice that week.
And besides, I was guilty of the act."
"Yes!" mom conceded. "But--"
Bill butted in: "But mom! Haven't you taught us to always tell the truth,
no matter what the consequences?"
"Except as far as her secret identity is concerned," I countered. That
came off sounding more flippant than I had intended.
"And there are times when even something as basic as the truth has to take
a back seat--like protecting innocent lives--which is exactly my point."
"You're right dear--" Mom said, before freezing. Dad, Bill and I all looked
at each other. We knew her super-intutition was at work again. I could
tell she was focusing her x-ray and telescopic vision on a disaster-in-
progress.
She looked at me as she rose from the table. "Will you clear the table
when everyone's finished dear? The Peterson's barn is on fire."
"But Mom!" I protested.
"Your brother set the table! It's your turn to clean up! No more backtalk
young lady," she said before vanishing from sight.
That's life when you have a super-powered mother!
NOTE: This story, and others in the series, is based on the 1960 Superboy
story, "Claire Kent, Alias Super Sister!" Clark is transformed into a girl
in the story, but it all turns out to be a "mental vision" projected by
the alien Shar-La. In this series, I assume the transformation actually
happened and carry Claire's story forward.
Sherry
- 12.06.2022
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