The L-Girl Manifesto
Chapter One: Supergirls Just Wanna Have Fun
By: L-GirlWriter

Behind every great superheroine there lies a mystifying story about the origin of her powers, and I believe this is where I must begin. I lived in a place called Satin City.  It is an island off the coast of southern Florida.  It was once part of Miami, but the drug trade became so intense there that the island formed a paramilitary organization, separate from Miami PD, to combat the drug traffickers and the gang violence that resulted from their activites. This organization became the chief authority of what was then known as Satin Island. Eventually, the island emancipated itself from Miami and became Satin City.  Some people say that the organization, known as SPEW (Serve, Protect, Enforce, and Watch), is controlled by the very criminals it once sought to stop.
    I lived in the Marina District.  It was the nerve center of the drug trade.  Planes would drop shipments out of the sky and speedboats would pick them up and drive them into the harbor, and that was where all the deals went on. It was here that I learned about the underworld of Satin City; it’s names, and it’s faces in a very intimate way.  The kingpins were always entertaining their clients, and they used me to sweeten the deal.  I had sex with countless men, who were often too eager to share their secrets when they were lying in bed with me.  I knew more about the business than the kingpins themselves.  I knew where the trades were going to be, how much product was being sold, and which SPEW operatives were being paid off. I could have taken them all down if I wanted to, of course, if I so much as uttered a word my life would be forfeit.
    I cannot say whether it was the chicken or the egg that turned me into a sex addict, but after sleeping with so many men so frequently, I started feeling depressed on the days that I wasn’t having sex, and I was always looking for more work.  If one drug lord wasn’t finding me enough men, I sought the graces of another drug lord, and I went to the SPEW hangouts and picked up strange men there as well. It was never enough for me, and I kept pushing the envelope.  I started to get involved in gang bangs and orgies, for the more things that were inside me the more they stimulated me.  And I didn’t just limit myself to men. I was a bisexual, even an omnisexual, for everything seemed to stimulate me. 
    Eventually my habits caught up to me.  It was a night like any other, and I was in apartment with three men, common street thugs.  They had been taking turns fucking me, and playing a little rough, though I used to enjoy that.   But then it went to far.  Two of them men held me down on the bed, while another man pulled out a switchblade. He kneeled on the bed, flipping open the blade and holding it over me.
    “Those are some nice tits,” he said, teasing my breast with the cool tip of the blade. I was overwhelmed by the sensation.
    “See, she likes that,” he said. “You little whore.  You stupid, little whore.”
    The other men grasped my limbs more firmly, and I watched in horror as the man raised the knife above my chest. What was more thrilling and erotic, than the spectre of death? I closed my eyes.
    When I opened them, the men had been tossed around the room, all of them knocked unconscious.  The man who had been taunting me with the knife lay dead, his own knife jammed into his heart.   Someone had saved me.  But who? It was impossible.  The only explanation was that I had saved myself.  But how, with my 118-pound frame, could I have knocked out so many guys, who were much stronger than me, in the blink of an eye?
    I thought about it a lot, and though my conclusions might seem improbable, it was the only way I could logically explain what happened without resorting to the supernatural.  I thought about what was going on right before he meant to strike me.  I had been in a state of extreme arousal.  The way the tip of the blade had tickled my breasts, and the dangerous implications of the gesture, had created sensations in me that I have never felt before.  I had nearly orgasmed, moments before everything went black. And so I gathered that my hyperactive libido had given me strange powers, which I had never discovered before.  The libido is the most potent force in the human body, and it may very well have heightened my senses and my reflexes in ways that would be impossible for a person with a normal functioning libido.  My insatiable lust had become my greatest power.  But how could I test this theory? Where was I to find another group of men who were going to bring me to an orgasm and then try to kill me? But, this was Satin City.  There were plenty of men here who would want to brutalize me, and in time, they all would, but for now, I had to find a way to control my libido.
    I don’t want to get into the details, but I started off using a dildo.  I was still being used as a courtesan, and made my clients talk more than they usually did. I found out about some small drug deals, which I thought would be ideal opportunities to test my new powers, dangerous as they were, but not anything I couldn’t handle.  It wasn’t about bringing anybody to justice then; it was about seeing how many people I could beat up. I made a mask by tying one of my stockings around my head and cutting slits for the eyeholes, and I took the dildo out of my purse and slipped it under my mini-skirt and pleasured myself when I was near the scene, so that my body was trembling with desire and my heart was pounding so hard I could hardly breathe; I left the purse and then sprang on a few men, barefooted, and in my mini-skirt and thigh-boots.  I took them a few moments to respond, bewildered as they were, but when they did I moved so quickly that they had no time to unholster their pistols, and in a semi-conscious daze I piled up their bodies on the asphalt.  If I broke their necks, I didn’t do it intentionally; I just couldn’t control my strength.  And then, after they were all knocked out, I had the most immense, exhilarting orgasm that I could ever imagine.  I lay on the ground, fondling myself for several minutes as wave after wave of orgamic pleasure passed through me, and then I woke up, slightly confused about what had just happened.  Then, I grabbed my purse and took of my mask, and went to whatever man’s bed I was to sleep in that night.
    Clearly, I had discovered pleasures beyond anything that mere sex alone could ever offer me, and those were the thrill of violence.  It was far more erotic for me to beat a man senseless than it was simply to fuck him, and I wondered at the possibilites.  My sex addicition had always left me wanting more and more, so that I could never satisfy myself, and I now I had found the answer, the solution for all my desires. I could still have sex with men and pretend to enjoy it, but I knew that my true existence was on those violent nights.  I started achieving some infamy.  Although I didn’t really do anything to stop the deals other than beating up the men, someone would come across all these unconscious bodies in the road once in a while and call the SPEW, and the men would subesquently be arrested. Other times, the men would simply wake up, except for the ones that didn’t, and resume their business.  Rumors started circulating about a masked vigilante, albiet an enormous, mannish woman, skilled in martial arts, who had a beef with the drug lords. Little did they know it was a 5’ 3” brunette with no martial arts training other than using a dildo, who slept with the drug lords.  But security did get tighter.  There were more men, armed with machine guns.  Still, not one got a single round off.  I never really knew how managed to do this, but I did. 
    Eventually, the dildo wasn’t necessary.  I taught myself how to channel my sensitive libido using tantric meditation, and I found that I had much keener control over my sensations with my mind rather than a dildo, and I became even more deadly in my fights.      

    But I wasn’t a superheroine yet. I still fought the men in my mini-skirt, and with not the slightest virtuous intentions, other than my own self-gratification.  This came to an end one day when I was at a sidewalk sale looking at dresses.  An unassuming gentleman wearing bermuda shorts and a hawaian shirt walked over to the rack and whispered in my ear: “We know about you.” I whirled at him, stunned and speechless.  “Why don’t we go for a walk,” he said.
    The man was a covert SPEW operative, who had been following my late night brawls more carefully than anyone else. Little did I know, that at the last deal I had broken up, when I was syping on the men from a distance, there was someone spying on me.
    “You have two choices,” he told me.  “You could either work for SPEW as an operative, or I could turn you over to the cartel."
    “What do you want me to do?”
    “I am aware of your connections to the cartel.  You are to feed me intel.  When we want to make a move, we will send you in. You will not make anymore rogue attacks. Is this clear?”
    “Is this really happening?” I don’t think I meant to say that out loud.
    “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Kimmie.  You’ll either do what we tell you to do, or else.”
    “Alright, then.”
   “Our relationship is to remain secret. You will report only to me.  You do not need to look for me.  There are four other men under my command. I, or one of my operatives, will contact you when we need intel or if we need to assign you to an operation.  My operatives will use the passcode, 'jicama', to establish contact with you.  Do not establish contact with anyone unless you hear the passcode. Be aware that you are being watched at all times.”
    “But what if the cartel were to find out my identity as well?”
    “Then we cannot protect you. But, I think you know how to take care of yourself.  Now, I’m going to stop in at this café and you’re going to keep on walking.”
    “What’s your name?” I said.  He pretended as though he didn’t hear me, and went into the café.  
    From then on, I was a covert SPEW operative.  I would much rather roam about freely, as I had been doing, but even I knew that wouldn’t last.  I was glad that SPEW had found out about me before the drug lords.  But I had to make some changes.  I couldn’t go on fighting in torn mini-skirts.  I needed a costume.  I found a shiny, silver, lycra unitard that hugged my curves rather nicely; my body had been a distraction for the men and probably aided my victories.  But this plain suit wasn’t enough; I painted a symbol on it.  On my chest was a white “L” enclosed in a circle, which was supposed to stand for “Libido”, although the men could make anything they wanted of it.  I accessorized my suit with white thigh boots that were very tight around my legs- they looked like they were painted on- and a white sash that I tied around my waste. Of course, now that I was a secret operative, I couldn’t just live in the drug lords' penthouses; I needed a lair. I looked to the abandoned factories in the North End, on the opposite side of the island from the Marina Distrcit. Of course, the buildings weren’t exactly abandoned; there were junkies and drifters, and that sort, but that would only serve to secure my anonymity.  I found a room that had once been a maintenance closet, and I cleaned it out all the dust and broken glass and installed a combination lock on the door. As I long as I had some quarters I could bathe in the public showers and wash my suit, which was bound to get dirty. It wasn’t very superheroinely, but neither was I.
    The transformation was complete.  I was no longer a depraved sex addict. I was a super-powered crimefighter.  Shortly after I donned my costume, reports came out in the papers about a beautiful, masked vigilante who dispatched criminals in the night in the name of justice, and who wore a certain emblem on her chest, for which they began to refer to me as “L-Girl.” The stories were written by SPEW. They provided a distraction for the cartels, and they took some heat off of the organization. If something went wrong, the public could blame it on L-Girl now. The degree to which my superheroine career was merely a publicity stunt, I will never know, but I like to think that I did some good for the city.
   A superheroine was born, and little did I know that this would be the beginning of a long, painful end.  And so begins the tale of the superheroine who was, for a short time, known as L-Girl.