The Heroic Adventures of Madame X

By A.R. Gross

Finnegan Yates lives an unassuming life, struggling to be the man he needs to be. Despite this, he knows how to transform a victimized woman into a superheroine through his comic book series, The Heroic Adventures of Madame X.

Only The Heroic Adventures of Madame X is no ordinary comic book series: the characters are living, br

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atmosphere Press
• Release date: May 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637528525

Book preview

PART ONE

THE BOYFRIEND

Chapter One

Introducing the Misfits

Thirty-eight-year-old Finnegan Yates slouched over the drafting table in the oppressive summer heat of Zanesville, Ohio. An electric fan whirred from the brick ceiling in his loft while milky light poured through the slanted windows. Beads of sweat threatened to drip down the curve of his nose, and the dense humidity steamed his black-framed glasses. With the back of one hand, he swept his floppy brown hair to one side. He removed his glasses, rubbing the lenses with the edge of his cotton T-shirt before slipping them on, and picking up a stubby pencil. Halfway through sketching the first panel of Madame X with her long black hair and breastplate of love flying in the sky, he straightened his stiff back and sighed. What crime was she stopping or whose life was she saving? Thinking, he drummed the blunt eraser against the table. He had an end-of-the-month deadline and no original ideas for this particular story.

A soft pink light glowed around the exaggerated curves of Madame X’s corseted body before she leaped out of the panel and sat cross-legged on the drafting table. Don’t worry. She swung one perfect long leg toward Finnegan’s shoulder. I have an idea.

As soon as her bare toes grazed Finnegan’s collar bone, he shivered. Goose bumps rose along his skin. He tossed the pencil on the drafting table and crossed his gangly arms. After fifteen years of collaboration, he speculated if her idea was solid like the storyline about rescuing the depressed postpartum mother from killing her newborn child or impossibly unrealistic like the one about the drunken homeless man finding true love with a small island princess. He tightened his jaw and nodded. Tell me.

Not yet. She narrowed her eyes and stroked his skin with her toes. Ideas are like sex. You need to start with foreplay.

He snapped his arms wide open. I don’t have time to dick around. I have three weeks to come up with a story, so please just fucking tell me.

She tossed back her head and laughed.

He softened his shoulders, caving toward the table. He loved the sound of her voice—rich, sultry, and disarmingly seductive. When he’d created the superheroine after a dry spell of one-night stands, he poured all the best characteristics of the women he knew into her. Madame X sported firm, round breasts, long, tanned legs, jet-black hair, and haunting green eyes. But her inner characteristics mirrored his male role models. She controlled and dominated, seduced and conquered. The amalgam resulted in a character who appealed and appalled people’s sensibilities. But he didn’t care. He loved her. Madame X, healer of the human heart, rescued broken families, reunited estranged lovers, and reconciled people whom others deemed beyond hope. Fueled by sex, her superpower of love channeled through her fourth chakra, opening with rays of light reminiscent of Jesus’s Sacred Heart. She poured forth pure, unconditional acceptance that broke through discrimination, hatred, and violence.

Frowning, she pointed a long, manicured nail at the opening panels. First, I’ve been around over a decade. I can’t be seducing twenty-year-olds at startups. She swung her long black hair over a bare shoulder. I need to focus on older men in their fifties and sixties.

You don’t age in a comic strip. He fixed his gaze on the signature heart-shaped gold plate covering her buxom breasts in the tight corset.

She batted her eyelashes. Don’t you see . . . If my interest in the type of men I prey on changes, then the storyline changes?

He tipped his head back. According to her origin story, younger men held more potency in their sperm, which triggered a higher activation in her heart chakra. But maybe more experienced men could bring something else to the table that might expand her powers. Okay. I’ll make them older. He picked up the pencil and added crow’s feet to the corner of the man’s eyes.

Shaking her head, she stabbed a finger at the unfinished sketch. No men in their thirties and forties. Too complicated. They all want to get married and settle down. I don’t have time for a relationship. I just need to keep up my strength with a quickie, understand?

He bit the end of the eraser. The rubber flakes tasted like sawdust in his mouth. For a moment, he thought about kissing her. Fresh shame flamed his cheeks. The one time he lunged for her lips, she had pulled away. Her disappearance left him forlorn for a week without any inspiration. If she hadn’t returned, he might have missed his monthly deadline. But in a story, anything could happen. Why don’t I write myself into the storyline? I’m thirty-eight and have no interest in settling down.

The front door banged open, and Molly Kim strode into the loft. Ever since they’d met in the first grade, Molly buried herself in her academics. Right now, she was a graduate student of women’s studies. The heavy clomp of her Doc Martens woke Curtis, a half pug, half Chihuahua puppy, from the doggie bed next to the futon.

Curtis stretched his back and yawned.

Molly stepped around him, her thin arms laden with a tower of books. She grunted. I hate summer school. With her left foot, she shut the door. She strode toward the futon, smelling of stale cigarettes, sour perspiration, and sweet perfume. Hey, man, you cool with just chilling? I’ve got a paper due on Monday, and I can’t paint the town red this weekend. She dumped the stack of books on the frayed futon and waved toward Madame X. What’s she doing here?

Finnegan removed the pencil from his mouth and tapped the empty frames on the strip. We’re working on the next edition.

Madame X hopped off the drafting table and strutted toward Molly.

Finnegan loved both women in as many ways as the women were different. Molly was a short, Korean woman with no breasts and no butt worth mentioning. Madame X was a tall, Amazonian woman with enough breasts and butt to keep the porn industry humming.

I don’t appreciate you interrupting us. Madame X bent down and sneered.

Squinting, Molly placed her hands on her hips and rose on the tips of her toes. You can’t talk that way to me, bitch. I’m writing my dissertation on you and how you’ve corrupted the #MeToo movement by making it #MeTooMuch.

Oh no. Finnegan shook his head. Not again. He wanted to keep the women apart, but they always showed up at the same time. He didn’t know which was worse—Madame X’s sexual empowerment or Molly’s disdain toward extreme feminists. Secretly, he thought Molly had a schoolgirl crush on his creation, but he would never share that sentiment aloud with anyone, not even with Curtis.

Tossing back her head, Madame X laughed. You, my little plaything, are a nuisance. No wonder you’re a lesbian. No man would want you.

Molly flopped onto the futon and spread her legs apart, patting her crotch. Lick my pussy, bitch.

Enough! Finnegan lurched off the chair and stood squarely between the two women. Molly, apologize. Madame X, be nice.

With wide eyes, Molly jabbed a thumb at her chest. Why should I apologize?

Pivoting on her bare heels, Madame X narrowed her gaze. I’m always nice.

When Finnegan spied the slight smile playing at the corners of Madame X’s lips, he felt a flicker of lust deep in his groin. Turning away, he raked his fingers through his hair.

Hello, hello, hello darlings! Drake Silva opened the door to the loft. Heat rippled through the room.

With striking black eyes rimmed with charcoal liner, mocha-colored skin, and dreadlocks, Drake looked more like a man on vacation than a salesclerk at Mass Media Comics. At night, he mixed music at nightclubs.

Drake smacked his hands together and smiled. Ladies. He bowed toward Molly and Madame X. And gentlemen. He nodded toward Finnegan.

Curtis perked up his head.

Hannah just proposed to me, and I said, ‘Yes!’ He flung out his hand and wiggled his fingers.

After grabbing his wrist, Molly rolled off the futon and stood. Hot damn, that rock’s huge.

A diamond the size of a small marble glittered in a thick gold band.

Finnegan sucked in a breath and held it for as long as he could. Drake, a consummate gigolo and perpetual Peter Pan, was engaged to be married. Out of everyone he knew, Finnegan never guessed Drake would succumb to convention first. Seizing the edge of the drafting table, he sank into the swivel chair. Every muscle in his body twitched. He could not imagine DJ Drake, who tore up the dance floor with as many women as he could cycle through in one night, as a married man.

Madame X prodded Finnegan’s chest. I want to be married.

Widening his eyes, he shrugged. How can you be married? You live to fuck and fuck to live.

Find me someone to fuck forever. She sat on the edge of the drafting table and crossed her legs. Leaning close, she kissed his cheek and pouted. Pretty please with sugar on top.

No way. Finnegan shook his head.

Drake stooped and swayed in a made-up dance. Yo, man, I don’t see why she can’t get into a serious relationship. He clapped his hands and swung his hips back and forth to the silent beat. Find her a guy like Hannah.

Finnegan sighed. Hannah, a socialite originally from Palm Beach, had attended Defiance College to study social sciences. When she’d graduated, she moved to Zanesville to work with impoverished youth. How would Madame X find a man who cared more about healing the world than self-serving sex? A headache bloomed between his temples. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his eyes. She’s never slept with a man more than twice. If she pair-bonds, the poor guy will either suspect her secret identity or wrongly accuse her of being a slut. He lifted his head and frowned. The series will end.

Molly folded her arms. Why can’t she go on the hunt for a boyfriend? After all, isn’t her superpower true love?

Molly’s right. Madame X smiled. I rescue others through true love. Why can’t I rescue myself? Don’t I deserve to get married and live happily ever after?

Finnegan gaped. A self-rescuing superheroine?

Drake shrugged. Why not?

Madame X placed her feet in Finnegan’s lap. With her toes, she massaged his crotch. Find me a husband, and I’ll let you fuck me.

Warmth spread throughout his legs, and he shuddered. He’d been living vicariously through Madame X for so many years he couldn’t remember the last time he was laid. Nudging her feet out of his lap, he stood and paced. He lived strip to strip. His parents were dead, and his cousin lived in Arizona in a retirement community. Molly shared an apartment with her long-time girlfriend. Drake was getting married.

He was alone.

Curtis barked.

Finnegan swept Curtis into his arms, cradling the dog like a baby. I agree the story has potential, but I can’t risk the concept. He lengthened his stride, his fingers rubbing underneath Curtis’s chin. What if no one believes a sex-hungry, one-night stand kind of woman can fall in love? Pausing, he raised his gaze toward the ceiling. The series will end, and I’ll be unable to support myself.

Only the whirr of the oscillating fan buzzed throughout the room.

Finnegan glanced around at the bewildered faces of his friends. A trickle of sweat dripped from his forehead and dropped onto his chest.

Curtis lapped it up like a raindrop.

Madame X jumped off the drafting table. If you don’t find me a husband by the end of this issue, I’ll stop showing up. You’ll have nothing to write about.

A pulse throbbed in his forehead, and a pain seized in his chest. Don’t threaten me. I created you.

Turning, Madame X opened the front door, stepped into the hall, and slammed the door.

After setting Curtis on the floor, Finnegan slumped into the swivel chair, propped his elbows on the drafting table, and buried his head in his hands. Although the heat didn’t dissipate, goose bumps prickled his bare arms.

Fuck. How would he write this damn story alone?

Chapter Two:

Only the Lonely

On Saturday night, while Molly wrote the first draft of her thesis on Madame X and DJ Drake mixed music at Club Monaco with Hannah, Finnegan slumped in a booth at the Red Saddle to escape the stifling humidity by drinking ice-cold beer in an air-conditioned wooden shack off Main Street. He had not seen or heard from Madame X since yesterday’s fight, and he didn’t expect her to show up here but maybe her alter ego would.

Roxanne Fields, named after Finnegan’s favorite Police song, Roxanne, and his favorite actress, Sally Fields, worked as an unassuming social media expert for startup companies in New York City. Smart, diminutive, and highly aware, Roxanne channeled the innocence of a librarian and the wanderlust of a gypsy traveler, often attracting men who mistakenly believed she was a virgin.

Sitting in the smoky bar, listening to country music, Finnegan cupped his hands around the frosty beer mug, which was empty, and stared forlornly at a blank page in his notebook.

Don’t drink and draw. Lorena, a fifty-something cocktail waitress who looked more washed up than Finnegan felt, slapped another beer on the scratched wooden table and tugged the empty mug out of his hands. This one’s on the house. Manager’s still gloating about appearing in the last issue as Madame X’s hottest flame. She winked. When are you going to put me in a story?

Finnegan sipped the bitter brew and winced. He liked Lorena. She was tough and tender but no longer pretty. How could he tell her nicely the power of a woman faded once she lost her looks?

What’s wrong, sugar? She removed a rag from her apron and mopped up the table around him, her withered cleavage sagging against the low-cut neckline of her black and white uniform. You’re awfully quiet tonight. Where’s your posse?

Working. He tapped the notebook with his finger. Wish I could say the same about myself.

Writer’s block? She arched an eyebrow.

He shrugged. Don’t know if that expression is accurate. Leaning back against the leather booth, he tilted his chin toward the ceiling and stared at the wooden beams. Madame X wants me to find her a boyfriend. He lowered his head and met her gaze. She wants to fall in love, get married, and live happily-ever-after.

Gasping, she clutched the rag to her chest. About time! That bitch’s been banging more men than I’ve served beer to in the thirty years I’ve worked here. After a quick glance over her shoulder, she slipped into the booth across from him. Make her fall for someone tall, dark, and filthy rich, will you? She needs an opportunity to quit the rat race and settle down in the suburbs with a nanny and enjoy the good life. She expelled a sigh, her shoulders visibly relaxing. Thank the good Lord in heaven she’s cleaning up her act and growing up. She narrowed her gaze. I’ve been rooting for her to come off her high horse of power.

You have? He wrinkled his forehead.

Nodding, she tightened her lips into a straight line. Since the ten-year anniversary issue, when she reunited the lost kitten with the little girl owner, I’ve noticed a tenderness. She puckered her lips. Why don’t you let her get over her daddy issues and find someone to love?

He bowed his head, staring at the foamy beer. In the origin story, Roxanne discovered her powers as Madame X when her drunken father attempted to rape her. As soon as he stripped off her clothes and pounced on her virgin body, her heart chakra opened, dispelling a pink fairy light that held him spellbound and unable to execute the act of violence against her. From that night forward, her father sobered up and became an outstanding model of citizenship in the small town where they lived. But shortly after Madame X’s birth, Roxanne fled to New York City, desperate to disappear into a world of eight million people and become just another girl. She did not want to live her life as a superheroine powered by sex and motivated by unconditional love.

Hey, don’t neglect us, because we’re not celebrities. The guys at the bar hooted and hollered.

Oh, hush, now. You guys show up in every episode. Why can’t I get my fifteen minutes of fame? She rolled her eyes and stood. Before she left, she leaned down next to Finnegan. "Madame X gets her power at the moment before consummation, she whispered into his ear. Have Roxanne stop just short of the act and see what happens."

He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. Should he take her advice?

As she meandered to the bar to serve the guys their choice of liquor, she swung her hips beneath the too-short skirt.

She must have been pretty when she was younger. How