Spider-Man '65

The rooftop is cold. The edges of Greenwich Village, where the gusts up here are always cold. "I just need to get loose," Peter thinks to himself. He stretches his muscles.

The foot traffic on the streets below him is getting slight. These are the stragglers coming home from the acoustic bars and the coffee shops.

Likely high on cannabis or hashish.

Easy pickings.

"I'll feel better when I've kicked some ass," he thinks, and frowns at himself behind his mask. He knows it's true. There's nothing better after a day of being called "Puny Parker" by Flash and the rest than to prove how powerful he is.

By saving the day and protecting innocent citizens, of course.

Sometimes, he wonders what he would ever do if street crime gets under control. How will he get his ya-yas out after that?

Funny, he thinks of Uncle Ben, venting his frustrations one evening into a punching bag down in the small house's basement. A large, patched bodywork bag, hanging from an exposed rafter.

There was a time when Ben used to go down there after arguments with Aunt Mae. She said it was good for him to get some exercise, at least. Peter had that specific memory, held it in his head and his heart, and suddenly on that rooftop, his frown turned into a grin.

"Got it from you, Uncle Ben," he thinks to himself. "So it can't be all that bad of an instinct."

"You're damn right, Peter," he hears his Uncle say in his mind. "Now let's go kick some ass!"

The spider-sense tingles.

This couple that he's been watching out of the corner of his eye, as they stumble out of the most popular bar for jetting hijacked from, right there on the corner. They wobble up the block and start crossing the street into the parts of the Village where there are fewer streetlights.

And someone in dark clothing with a hat obscuring his face, has noticed.

And is following, discreetly behind the intoxicated couple.

And now so is Peter. Discreet, roof to roof. Only having to jump, here. Peter likes the Village for just that reason. Left over from the Little Old New York days, narrow streets that he can simply jump across, no-need for web-slinging.

Plus, that Daredevil guy seems to have the corner on the market for cracking bad-guy skulls a few miles north of here. It's good for Peter to take these regular rounds downtown here around Washington Square Park.

Spidey jumps over buildings, behind which is the epic skyline of midtown Manhattan, and between the streets is the Washington Arch several blocks away in that Washington Square Park. Watching and waiting. No matter how suspicious it looks, he cannot intervene before an actual crime has been committed!

But, it's his caution and his commitment to justice and the American Way that lets Spider-Man stay on the streets, and lets Peter Parker keep serving his community, and they both know it!

Luckily or unluckily, it does not take too long.

The flash of a knife, faint in the distance unless you've got heightened senses the result of a bizarre radioactive spider bite, the fateful accident at the Science Hall in August of '62 that made Peter the Spider-Man he is today.

The scream of a woman--needing less heightened senses to hear. Spidey only hopes he's not too late as he drops into action.

Now there are two muggers, both with knives, held right on the couple. Close.

"You know if you stab them, then I don't have to pull my punches with you!" Spidey tells the bad guys, so he can catch his breath while they still have their backs turned to him.

"Oh shit!"

"It's him!"

"You said he didn't work downtown! You said he only worked Morningside Heights now!"

"Oh shit!"

The two muggers have turned around and they have see the red and blue. So bright. So terrifying.

"I know," Spider-Man tells them. "You wish I were an actual spider."

The muggers start to run, but that's not good enough. Not tonight.

First, he turns to the would-be victims: "Get home safe now, folks, how far is it?" Spider-Man asks the taller of the two almost-mugged beatniks.

"J-just up here, Spider-Man."

"Okay. Holler if you get into any more trouble."

"W-will do."

Spidey sees the two would-be muggers have turned into an alley. Exactly as he hoped. Someplace nobody will be watching.

"Have a good night," Spidey says, using his web to propel him up and around the corner at break-neck speed.

"Oh shit, I thought he was totally gonna bust us for the reefer," Spidey hears one of the people he saved say, and Spidey smiles. He's not that uncool, he thinks to himself. Plants are harmless, and good for people in the right doses.

Those two muggers are making him chase, and he likes that, even if he knows he is going to punish them for it.

They know where they are going, they are about to open the door to a basement off of the trash-filled alleyway, but Spider-Man beats them to it.

"Don't leave the party too early, fellas. I see you've brought your cutlery!" They still have their knives in their hands.

They notice that. But rather than attack, they throw their knives away into the alley.

"Awww, come on now, children could pick those up," Spidey quips maliciously. This alley is pure trash cans and dumpsters. No children have played here since the Dutch owned Manhattan.

The would-be muggers turn away to run, but it's too late for them.

Spidey moves quickly, trips one of them, who falls hard to the ground at Spidey's feet. The other he grabs by the collar and tosses to the side of the alley, away from where he and his buddy just tossed their knives. "Now I'm going to have to find those knives," Spidey tells them. "But first!"

He picks up the one on the ground.

There's begging. There's pleading. "Awww, lights out." Spidey pulls the punch, but he knows by now, after a solid year and more on the job, just the right amount of force to use, as he thinks of it. No broken nose, but a quick nap.

Out the criminal goes.

The other one is scrambling on his hands and knees, trying to crawl out of the alley. A swift kick and Spidey has his opponent splayed and defeated. Too immobile from the broken ribs to fight any further. His body in shock. Something similar to what he had been prepared to dish out to a stranger not a minute before, Peter thinks.

Score one for the good guys.

It takes him another minute to get them wrapped in a web-bundle for the police to collect, with the two knives stuck on the outside. However, it took fifteen minutes to find the small knives amidst all the alley-trash after Spidey had the two erstwhile muggers wrapped up and waiting. Sticking the knives on the outside took no time at all. Bending the small blades with his spider-strength so they could not be used anymore, that took no time at all, either.

But that tussle was so quick. He needed some release.

Luckily, he was about to be on time for his date.

Ding-dong rings a cheerful doorbell.

A cheerful hallway of a new apartment building, all prosperity and new frontiers.

The beautiful brunette twenty-something named Betty Bryant answers her own front door to her own apartment, expecting exactly who she sees on the other side. "Hello, handsome. Come in!" Her Marlo Thomas glossy "That Girl" flip with bangs even outdoes Marlo Thomas. Even at this late hour.

Peter is scrubbed and clean, from a quick shower at his Midtown Athletic Club before making his late-night rendezvous.

"You're all washed and Ivory pure," Betty says, closing the door behind them and leading them into her small living room. "Worked up a sweat chasing Spider-Man all over town, is that it?"

"Something like that."

"Did you get him?" She is pouring cocktails from her bar cart. The ice clinks.

"You mean any good pictures? Naw, not tonight. But I figured I should wash up at the Midtown Athletic Club before paying a call."

"I don't mind it if you come over sweaty after work, Peter. I don't mind a sweaty man. In fact, I think it's very sexy. You know, you could always wash up here. My shower has great pressure. And if you ask nicely, I could even wash your back."

But Peter is reading all kinds of subtext into this that she does not intend. She has no idea who she's talking to, really, does she?, he thinks. He's a fink for lying to her, he thinks. He better lie to her, he also thinks.

"That'd be mighty swell, Betty. I've never had a girl wash my back before."

"Oh, I wouldn't just get your back, Peter. Here," she says, handing him a scotch over the rocks. "Your usual."

"Thanks, Betty." And Peter clinks his glass with her gin and soda. They take their first sips, looking each other in the eyes.

"You know Peter, I'm wondering one thing. Can you guess what it is?" Betty says.

"I don't think I can, Betty. What is it?"

"How much of this I'm going to drink before you get me out of this dress."

"Oh." He pauses. "About one more sip."

"Okay."

"While you're turned around. So I can start working the zipper down."

Betty has her lips on her glass, sipping oh-so-slowly, as she turns around. "It isn't that kind of dress, I'm afraid. It's just that halter, you see. And I'm not wearing a bra. So, if you pull that halter over my head, Peter, then my breasts are going to fall out. And, Peter, they are the breasts of an... older woman."

"Oh my gosh, Betty, you're about two years older than me and that's it!"

"So, you still want to see them?"

"See them? You bet I do," and Peter pulls her halter over her head in one deft movement.

"Oh, Peter!" Betty squeals, as she feels her dress fall away from her neck and her chest, her breasts big and pink and full, feeling the air of her living room. She hears the sound of Peter putting his glass down.

"Oh, Peter!" Betty says, still holding her glass but now feeling the nineteen-year-old reach around and try to hold her massive breasts in his two hands. Massaging and squeezing her, softly then roughly, the way he knows she likes.

"Peter, that feels soooo good. Oh, Peter, let me put my drink down."

"Drop it, I'll catch it."

"What?"

"Drop it. I'll catch it. I've got great reflexes."

"But--"

"Do it."

"Alright." She does.

As soon as it is out of her hand, she feels his right hand leave her breasts and then return almost instantly, with the ice-cooled glass of gin and mixer, cool against her big, baby-feeder nipples, that are taking their time to harden, so much nipple to stiffen.

"Ooooh!" Betty exclaims at the cool. "You are fast!" And now her nipples are both rock-hard.

"Not when it counts," Peter teases her. "Then I like to take my time."

"You sure do, you sexy man. Tell me, Peter. Am I still your first? Your first and your only?"

Peter blushes. It's been a year since Betty took his virginity at eighteen. He knew she was experienced before him, but he did not care, in fact, he was proud that he had someone so enthusiastic and confident and comfortable to show him how to please and be pleased.

To teach him how to screw, and screw right, right from the start.

Betty and he never fumbled, Betty always knew what to do and she made it easy for Peter to do what she liked.

And he always ended up liking it, too!

But, Peter does feel guilty, he knows he has jerked off thinking about Liz Allan, and about some of the attractive women in the Spider-Man fan club whom he knows would say "yes" even if he kept the Spider-Man mask on, to preserve his secret identity. He knows Betty went on dates with other men when they were broken up, but Betty getting back together with him for these midnight rendez-vous especially, was so easy and fun, everything with Betty was always like picking up right where they last left off.

And it was always so easy and fun with Betty, especially when she was not getting involved in Spider-Man adventures on account of her no-good brother. [Editor's Note: see The Amazing Spider-Man #11, April 1964, natch!]

Betty was best when she was a sweet rack to feel up after work, just like this, Peter thought.

"Yes, Betty," he confirmed to her. "You still are."

"Still what?"

"Still are my first. My first and only."

"Oh Peter. My sweet boy. My pure, sweet Peter." Betty turns to him and her mouth glues itself to his. Her tongue fucks its way into his mouth, loving his sweetness and his taste and his tongue and his kiss and how he makes her feel. "Oh, you make me feel so special, Peter," she tells him. "You make me feel like you really care for me for me, for who I am and not who or what I've been."

"Absolutely, Betty," Peter tells her. "I'm crazy for the real you."

"Oh, me too, Peter, me too. I love how pure and sweet you are. Tell me, Peter. You've only been with me. Tell me I'm the only lover you've ever had. That it's only my body you've been inside."

"It's true, Betty! It's only you. All these months, I've still only been with you. I've been totally faithful to you," Peter confesses truthfully.

"Oh, Peter!" She kisses him again and even harder, even deeper. He's all hers. Something clean and pure and true in her crazy, mixed-up life. As dirty as she know she's been, as dirty as Betty still feels all of the time, she knows she is in some kind of crazy alternative life with this beautiful young Peter, whose love and passion for her might have been what her true first love and first lover could have been, in that alternative universe that does not exist, where she was true and pure, too, and not so wilted and unclean, so unclean to this pure, honest Peter Parker, would could never, ever tell her a lie or deceive her about anything! She was so sure and so relaxed in his arms! Her white knight!

"Oh, Peter, being with you, I get to feel what nice girls feel," she told him, swooning, her tits out like the naughty girl she was even at twenty-one.

"You are a nice girl, Betty," her hunky bookworm reassured her, "you're the nicest girl I've ever met."

"Awww, you sweetheart. How do you feel about... maybe... getting a little dirty, with the nicest girl you've ever met."

"Gosh, would I! I've been looking forward to this all day! The best part of working late nights, is being able to make these late-night calls on you, Betty!"

"Take me into my bedroom, Peter."

"With pleasure, m'lady," Peter says, swooping her up and carrying her with ease, bride-over-the-threshold style, into her bedroom and dropping her playfully onto her bed.

Betty marvels, "you are so strong!" as she does every time this surprisingly powerful young man literally sweeps her off of her feet and takes her to bed.

"I eat my Wheaties," Peter quips, quoting a breakfast cereal's slogan.

"Or your spinach or something," Betty says, squeezing his biceps. "How do you stay so fit as a photographer?"

"I'm also a student, with a free all-you-can-pump pass to the school gym."

"Tell me more about that all you can pump," Betty teases, seductively. "Better yet, show me."

Peter smiles, not at all like a nice, sweet boy.

Her dress comes off the rest of the way, as does her slip, as do her panties.

As does his jacket and pants and shirt and underwear and they are kissing on her bed, naked together like Adam and Eve, another couple, Betty thinks, of pure man and sinful woman. Making her feel that this beautiful boy--young man, really--skin to skin next to her, is exactly the right type of man for her, pure and innocent and teachable, not corruptible.

Not corrupted.

Not already corrupted like every other man who has ever had me has been, Betty thinks.

Betty feels Peter's erection against the wet lips of her hairy pussy and she feels redeemed.

"Yes, Peter," she tells him. "I want you. I want you so much, my sweet angel, I want you so much, I want you to be inside me, Peter. I want to do it with you like we're both virgins. I want to do it with you like we're in the backseat of a borrowed car. I want to do it with you like I didn't have to drop out and we were real high school sweethearts. Oh, do me, Peter, do it to me like it's after prom, like it's how after prom should have gone."

Her hips and her thighs and her arms and her hands all work together to make him feel oh so wanted and oh so desired atop her. Skin against skin. Connecting. Bonding. No secrets between them. Holding him, making herself open and easy for him.

"Do you want me to, you know, first," Peter asks sweetly, "go down on you?"

She smiles. He's so thoughtful. She's taught him so well about how to love a woman's body. "No, honey. Not tonight. I'm so ready for you. Come here, baby," encouraging him to push forward just that little bit more, those few inches that will make all the difference.

She gasps on the large mushroom head of his cock, and she moans as she feels

ooooooh so much difference, from closed to full, empty to full, longing to loved, ooooh so nice

"Oh Peter."

"Oh Betty..."

Her breathing.

"Oh Betty, you are so wet. You are so ready for me."

"Been waiting for you all night, Peter. Could not wait for you to finish this day with me."

Romantic talks leads to kissing in their missionary position on her bed. All sweet long strokes and loving caresses. Beautiful lovemaking in the dim light of her bedroom.

"Oh, Peter," Betty says. "You're so special to me. You know I would always come back to you, don't you? When we're apart, I always want to get in your arms again?"

"Oh, me, too, Betty."

"If I was even with another lover, I'd always want you to have me after, Peter, I'd always want to reconnect with you, after, especially before I went to sleep."

"Why would you say that Betty--oh, my. You feel so wet, so much wetter inside than before, and different, kind of extra slippery--I can just sense it Betty, you've been with someone else tonight!"

She folds her legs around hm, holds his back tight. "You can't slip out of my web, I need you too much, Peter! You mean too much to me for me to be without you!"

"To share you, Betty?"

"It's not the first time, and you know it, Peter. You know I wasn't shy when you broke things off with me. I was heartbroken without you. Affection--touch--these are human needs, Peter. Of course I accepted dates from men, at first to teach you a lesson, Peter, but you know it became more than that. And you know Ned genuinely likes me and we have fun together."

"Ned!"

"Of course, Ned. You should feel good knowing I'm out with someone whom I'm safe around."

"Yeah, and who still wants to get in your pants at the end of the date! And who still does get into your pants at the end of the date!"

"Ned--just had me, Peter. But I still wanted to be with you, too. You know I'll always love you, Sweet Peter. Give me that--sweet Peter. You're nineteen now, big boy, We're still celebrating your birthday, aren't we?"

His cock pumped in and out, and then slowed, and then stopped, deep in her, but starting to soften. "Not as big as Ned," Peter whined.

"Oh Peter, now really," Betty said, holding on to his back only tighter. "I can't believe you're jealous of the man I left to be with you. Now, really. If anyone should be jealous, it's Ned. He doesn't even know I still see you. That I still fuck you. And always will."

"Yeah, fuck him first."

"You are the most stubborn man, I swear! Playful fun on a fun evening, pure, frivolous play. You, meanwhile, were off working, taking all your photos--"

"You could wait at home--"

"You like me, Peter, because I'm not the type that waits at home for boys. You know I used to get jealous when girls like that blonde boy-stealer Liz Allan would run their fingers through your hair. But I'm over that now, Peter. This is the sixties. We're living in the future! We don't need petty jealousies to hold us back anymore, Peter."

"You didn't hold yourself back!"

"You were busy out having your adventures, and I had an evening free. I like Ned, I like going dancing with him. And I like making love with him at his apartment. And then he drove me home and left me at the door. Only you get to be with me herenin my bed, Peter."