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The Secret Life of Wonder Woman	By : serious Category: DC Verse Comics > Wonder Woman Views: 18559 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Wonder Woman, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Ember
- 2-Help
- 3-Blind
- 4-Girlfriend
- 3
- 4
I am blind. Tyflos.
Yet, to reduce things to the kind of empty-headed platitude-cum-soundbite favored by Man’s World, I see so much more clearly now.
Kara is Clark’s blood, in so many ways. And in so many ways, she isn’t. When I could look at her, it was easy to see the resemblance. She had the same optimism, the same forlornness dueling with it, the same smile and determination and passion. But in combat, Clark always goes with a heavy heart. Literally; it slows a little. But Kara’s races.
I bat aside her attacks, using something like judo for metahumans. At our strength levels, it’s both easier and harder to redirect attacks. Easier because there’s only so much time an arm firing off ten tons of pressure per square inch (a conservative estimate) can slow down or speed up. Harder because once you redirect that force, you have to consider where it goes. It does no good to try to stop a monster from tearing up a city, then to channel one of its blows into a building full of people.
“Calm down,” I say, sensing Kara’s aggravation. She wants a win over me so badly it makes her rash, thinking that rage can overcome discipline. I’d give her a win, just to mollify her, but in training a mentor must be merciless. I learned that from the best.
“You’re blind!” Kara curses, firing away heat-beams that my bracelets catch and deflect like (hopefully) a prism catching a beam of light. I feel their offshoots hissing by me, one of them cooking my hair. Sikchantos. “How come you’re…”
I throw out my lasso, catching her by a dainty ankle and jerking her to the ground. She’s still taking a fatal moment to recover when I’m on her, hog-tying her. “Winning?”
“Yeah,” she says. “That. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“Don’t tip-toe around it. It’s annoying.” She’s stopped struggling, so I release her. Even though she’s only been in bondage for a few seconds, she nonetheless rubs her wrists. I can hear the faint scrape, whisper-thin, of her hands over her fair skin.
“I think you’re the only who treats me like an adult sometimes,” Kara says. She’s back to feeling sorry for herself. I tell myself I shouldn’t find it tiresome. If there’s one thing Clark’s better suited to than being a lover, it’s a friend (which I say only because his duties preclude him from giving the support a lover demands over a friend), and Bruce can be one of the better mentors in Man’s World. Yet she appreciates them as well as a wart. Tiresome.
“I’m sure when others see you in the bloom of womanhood, you’ll be treated more seriously.” I hear her before I see her… well, duh. “Why don’t you go find Cassie and practice what you’ve learned?”
I don’t have to see her to know Kara’s smiling. Cassie, she can actually beat from time to time. She flies off without remembering to say goodbye, leaving me alone with Dinah.
She’s come in through the back entrance of the training room, and is obviously having the same ‘oh, you’re blind’ awkwardness I’ve come to expect from a society unused to members who fall in battle or are handicapped. So I have a little fun with her.
“Dinah, you’ve stopped dyeing your hair.”
“How did you…”
“You don’t smell of hair dye.” I turn, concentrating to try to get a better sense of her clothes. People are easy, fabrics are harder, the actual fashion is hardest. I get underwear, satiny; jogging pants to keep warm under a frilly skirt; and white top; and leather vest with a bit of a collar; and the jangle of a necklace dangling under her blouse, between her breasts.
Best not to focus there too much.
It’s golden. Probably pretty.
She scruffs her left boot across the top of the other. Leather, rugged, mud and a little bit of body tissue under the sole. Wolverine, which is a little butch for her. Maybe she just doesn’t feel like dressing up.
At some point I realize we should probably be having a talk. “Hey,” I say, noncommittally. I’ve stopped trying to make this any more awkward than it is.
“Been a while, huh?” Her hands runs through her dark hair with a harmonious sound. “I know we haven’t really gotten a chance to talk since the Medousa thing… I guess I kinda avoided you in the JLA, then Oracle had this hero hunting mission…”
I frown.
“Nothing like that, just putting the fear of Oracle into some vigilantes who were a little too vigilant. But I’m here now and… you wanna grab some coffee?”
I smile as I’ve wanted to since I first heard her. “I’d love to.”
***
A quick shower later, and a change of clothes, and I’m ready. My pant suit is not at all influenced by Themysciran fashion, and my dark sunglasses conceal my blindness. I want us to be alone. Just us girls. I wish I could look myself in the mirror, but I guess I’ll just have to trust Aphrodite’s gifts. I comb my hair straight back and unbutton one more button on my blouse than usual. If I lean over, Dinah would be able to get a good look at my cleavage. I find myself counting the seconds until I can lean over.
“Ready?” Dinah asks when I emerge. She’s toying with some of the training equipment over at the far side of the gym. The bows and quivers. Oh, Dinah…
“Ready. You in the mood for seafood?”
“Aren’t I always?”
When she walks, I miss the sound of her jogging pants rubbing together and know she’s taken them off. Pantyhose under her long skirt and nothing more. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t notice.
***
There’s a tiny place I take her to, dark and intimate. I offer to drive, just for the look on her face, and am a bit disappointed I can’t actually see it. When we get there, it’s classic. A few other couples dotting the tables, the lights dim behind their thick red lampshades, and most of the lighting coming from the sunlight through the open windows. I take a seat in a table just near a large window, where the sun can touch my skin. The Braille menu is available on request, but since we’re “undercover,” Dinah just reads me what sounds good. I order two shrimp cocktails and Dinah goes with the lobster, with (and anyone else would order a wine) two beers as well. The beers come first; we clink them sarcastically before I open both with my bare hands.
“Show-off,” she says, but I can tell she’s relieved that I’m still at a hundred percent. Close to, at least.
“So, how are things with Barbara?”
“We’re taking some time-off.”
“That bad, huh?”
“That bad.” She takes an honest-to-Pantheon swig instead of the dainty little sips she’d been favoring so far. I’m fine with that, so I take my own gulp. I can already feel the alcohol start to go to work. If push came to shove, I could outdrink Dinah, but this isn’t a contest. Still, it probably won’t be her last beer of the night.
“I trusted her. That real… big kind of trust. Like family, like you or Roy or… well, not Ollie, these days… But I thought she was my friend.” Dinah settled on the last like it had taken her quite some time to arrive there.
“Barbara’s your friend. Have you heard how she talks about you? You’re practically her favorite person.”
“She manipulated me. It was goddamn Machiavellian. No… Batmaniavellian. Those first few missions? They were kinda like an… an intervention. Tailored specifically to fix my issues and turn me into a good little soldier.” The bitterness turns her honey-sweet voice into a rasp. “Hoo-rah, hoo-rah.”
“So you’d hold it against someone if you were in trouble and they staged an intervention?”
“I didn’t ask for her help! She manipulated me!”
“Yes, you said that.” She’s getting agitated. I take one of her hands between both of mine and hold it gently, bringing the full force of my personality to bear. I’m told it works like my lasso, like wrapping someone up in their security blanket. I can make people feel… aeitherês, and if anyone deserves warmth it’s Dinah. “But it sounds like it was for your own good.” She’s about to protest when I interrupt. Luckily, I can get some mileage out of my current disability. And people think I’m so innocent. “You remember when we first met? And how you were after you broke up with Ollie?”
“Which time?”
“Headband.”
“Oh, Jesus.” It takes a lot for a woman who’s turned a fishnet stocking into her trademark to feel abashed at a fashion faux-pas, but sometimes, we superheroes manage it. What can I say, I’m not proud of my push-up bra, biker shorts, and leather jacket phase either. Still, it breaks the tension.
“I don’t really know what was going on inside you then, but I can tell you that when I saw you fight, you always did it… like you were trying to. I could see you putting things together in your head, thinking about what your next step was, the next opponent in the fight, everything. And when you got together with Oracle, you stopped doing that. You stopped trying to fight and just fought. Barbara’s good for you, Dinah.” I lean forward for my final appeal. “And you’re good for her.”
It’s a bit late that I realize this gives Dinah that promised look down my cleavage. What the hell, she deserves it.
“Well, it’s not just me…” she says. One of the thing I find endlessly frustrating about women in Man’s World is that they insist on holding onto their offense, even when it’s irrational. For a people who are so slow to trust their emotions, they can cling fiercely to them. “Helena, too. The hero hunting mission was to show Helena the ‘error of her ways’ and ‘bring her back to the light’.”
“What, doesn’t Zinda get some issue-fixing mission?” I ask jovially.
“No, she’s from the Greatest Generation, people didn’t have issues back then.”
I titter with her, and don’t think about how my mother was one of the superheroes back then. She really was Wonder Woman.
Then, because the drink has made me sullen and I can’t see how beautiful Dinah is when she moves, I tell Dinah how Athena manipulated me. The entire business with Medousa was a plot to get Zeus off the throne and Athena on it. A necessary change, if I’m to believe Athena; a ruthless grab for power, if I don’t. Knowing Athena, I’m inclined to think it’s the former. But these days, it doesn’t feel like I know Athena at all.
“And you worship her?” Dinah asks when I’m done. Her voice is throbbing with disbelief, disgust. I learned a long time ago that there are things I can expect Man’s World to understand and things that they probably never will. My faith is one of them.
“It’s complicated.” That doesn’t satisfy her. “And really not appropriate dinner conversation, because we’d start to fight and I’d hate to fight. It’d ruin the rather nice evening we’re having.”
Our food arrives. The interruption gives our evening time to get back on track.
“So, tell me about Barbara. Spare no detail. Dish.”
We eat while Dinah goes into detail, Black Alice and Harvest and Thorn, and eventually she’s so loosened up that it stops being about the post-break-up-recitation-of-ex’s-deficiencies-as-a-human-being (although Barbara and Dinah aren’t dating, which I know since Dinah told me, and I believe since that way I can have sex with her later on) and is all about regaling ourselves with the story. After Harvest, she starts exaggerating and I let her.
At some point I start leaning over the table on my elbows, letting her see my breasts whenever she likes, and it’s actually rather nice not knowing if she’s looking. And her knowing I won’t know if she looks. Except when her breath quickens and her pulse races. Then I know she’s looked. Stared.
I slip a foot out of its high heel and start running it over Dinah’s leg. She sucks in air like an asthmatic. Hikes her skirt up higher with her hand. My foot follows.
“Can we get out of here?” she pleads.
I finish my last shrimp like every bite was an orgasm. “Yes.”
***
We return to the embassy arm in arm, Dinah chagrinned every time I lean over and kiss her neck, tiny little nips like flakes of snow landing on skin. I know part of her think it’s weird, how we can have sex while knowing we’ll never be more than friends. Less so after I helped her get over Ollie. But she accepts it far more readily than Bruce or Clark ever could.
In light of everything else that’s been lost, my eyesight hardly seems consequential, but now I miss the sight of Dinah’s body. More acutely than anything else. She’s one of the few people I know who moves as the Amazons do, all grace and power, yet still nowhere near where the Amazons are. Good music, but different genres. And though more value is placed on them in Man’s World than perhaps is due, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention her high breasts and firm ass. But though I miss the sight of them, touch will have to suffice.
I’m in such a hurry to strip that I have to remind myself to take it slow. Just because I can’t enjoy the sight of her doesn’t mean the reverse. So I take off my jacket, gently undo each button one by one before I peel away my blouse, then undo my belt. Dinah’s body has broken out in a fine sweat (sweeter-smelling than any perfume) and she’s next to nude.
“Wait, wait,” I say, my fly and belt undone, my pants practically falling down as I run… no, they are falling down, I have to fly or be tripped up… to the closet, where it’s somewhere, somewhere…
“Diana!” Dinah cries after me, perhaps thinking she’s going to be abandoned. I’m not that cruel. I hear her bra catch go and her panties sing down her thighs as she takes them off. It’s all I can do not to turn around, but at last I grope what I’ve been searching for.
“Ta-da.” I turn and present the camera and tripod for her inspection.
“You want to make… a sex tape?” I do believe I’ve managed to shock Dinah. I still don’t get why people always think I’m so innocent. For some reason they always seem to mistake purity with abstinence. Yes to the first, hell no to the second.
“I want to remember this moment. Just because I can’t see it now, doesn’t mean that will always be the case.” Dinah walks up to me and takes off my sunglasses. I didn’t know I’d left them on. They tell me my eyes are milky white, unfocused and somewhat disconcerting, but Dinah’s biology keeps charging full ahead. I smile. The two of us, we’re comfortable with scars.
“I’ll set it up. You take off those damn pants.”
I hear her struggle with the tripod as I go to my wardrobe. Eons ago, Guy Gardner gifted me with lingerie from Frederick’s of Hollywood. I think he was a little disappointed when I politely thanked him for it and moved on to the next gift. Batman’s stare on Guy the next time we all met (of course he didn’t attend my birthday party; there were criminals in need of sound thrashing) was quite the gift on its own.
Still, I put it on. A bit of a struggle without sight, and I never did get the appeal of garters, but I manage. I seem to recall they’re cream-colored, but all I can say for sure is that they’re lace. A flimsy camisole, cropped to leave my midriff bare, and a tiny pair of panties, barely more than a cloth triangle in front and a thong in back. A flicker of nervousness hits me as I run a hand through my hair, finding it sticking up weirdly and desperately trying to smooth it out. Aphrodite, has it been like that all night?
“Lights, camera, action, Diana!” Dinah shouts from the other room. Her voice is throaty with passion and my trepidation disappears. How could I doubt she could accept me, no matter how I look?
I step outside and know she’s naked, probably feeling either absurdly underdressed or bemused by my own sexualization. Then I smell her arousal, pungent, much sweeter than any perfume. I get close enough to practically taste her sweat, then I do, running my tongue along her cleavage and up to her shoulder in a way that makes her shudder. I dip back down to return to her nipple. It seems hard as steel. My teeth clench on it.
“God, Diana, God!”
“Not lately, no,” I joke. Fortunately, she’s in no condition to appreciate my wit. I’m up to kissing her neck, feeling her hands as they explore both my body and the lace covering it.
Dinah slips one of my shoulder straps off and rubs there, like she were polishing a spot off an immaculate statue. “Uhh, the bed, the camera’s focused on the bed, we should…”
I hoist her up on my shoulders and carry her there, wondering if she enjoys me playing the “masculine” role. From her squeals of enjoyment, she certainly doesn’t seem to mind. I throw her down on the bed and now she gets into it, ripping off my lingerie in full view of the cameras. A shame, it was rather comfortable. But nowhere near as comfortable as being skin to skin against Dinah.
I’ve fought the hordes of Hades and never broken a sweat, but with Dinah my body is slick and wet. We slide against the other, never settling into a hold when we can nip and bite and kiss, but while I’m just enjoying myself, she has an objective. She pops my garters, one by one, and rolls them down. As my legs are exposed, she takes care to lick her way down one and kiss her way up the other. I lay back on the bed, awaiting what I know is coming.
Her kiss on my aidia is at first slow and sweet, just a contact between our two bodies, then it grows until her tongue has entered me. Whatever I lose in the sight of her head at my temple, luscious hair criss-crossing my legs like ivy, I gain in sensation. It’s like I’m floating, slowly divorced from each limb and each organ until I’m pure pleasure, feeding into myself. I reach down and grab up handfuls of her hair. I know it’s not her natural hair color, but it feels like spun gold. I pull, tug, but when I orgasm my fingers are poised on her skull, urging her further into me. When I release her, a pleasurable night, a year, an eternity later, I can smell my own wetness dripping from her chin. Mingled with her sweat, it’s ambrosia. I only wish I could see her smile.
“My turn?” she asks, voice ringing with hope and lust. I smell her arousal and it makes me weak at the knees. So lucky I’m lying down.
I gesture for her to straddle me and she does, fluttering over my prone body before her legs part and she’s right over me, laid out like a feast. And I do. The taste is delectable, the sounds she makes a symphony. For the thousandth time I wish I could see her as she writhes and winces, her face probably already contorted with pleasure, but this will have to do.
I steady a hand on her hip and feel the vibrations passing through her body, a poor substitute for sight. She’s shaking like a leaf on the wind, every motion of my tongue sending a ripple through her. The power I have over this woman, this goddess, is intoxicating. I whip her into a paroxysm of nerves and muscle. Despite the intensity of what she’s feeling, Dinah retains her core. She stays poised over my face, weathering the storm, until I feel her orgasm in a thousand little ways. So supple it twists into me and I take it almost as my own.
Dinah rolls off me, letting an arm and a leg lapse off the bed. She’s giggly, the way she always is after great sex, and I kiss the nearest body part I can find. It’s her shoulder. I am fairly certain Dinah has the most beautiful shoulder in the universe.
“Tell me I tired you out,” she pleads. “Tell me you’re as exhausted as I am.”
If need be, I could still run a labyrinth and slay its minotaur, but my body still prays to me for a reprieve and if that means more time with Dinah, I will grant its wish. I uncoil, completely relaxing in contradiction to everything my paranoid teachers ever taught me about defense, because I know I am safe with Dinah.
“The land of Nod calls to me. Morpheus awaits.”
“Mmmm. Think we’re due for some good dreams?”
“I’ve had good dreams enough while awake.”
Too tired to extend my senses, I lean in to kiss something and end up with Dinah’s ear. I nibble on it anyway; she giggles more.
It takes me completely by surprise when she wraps her arms around me. It’s just a hug, but it pangs in my heart when she stops to draw the sheets around her and lie against the cool pillow. I lie next to her, smelling her in. Her heart and lungs, working as light and slow as the stirring of a harp, lull me to sleep.
When I awake, she is gone, but there’s a message on my voice mail. I play it.
“I’m off,” Dinah’s recording says. “Mission in Singapore. Wildcat’s helping out. I think Babs might be trying to bribe me, but… it’ll be good to work with him again, anyway. Thanks for last night. It meant a lot to me. Let’s not wait another few months to do this again, ‘kay?”
“’Kay,” I say, nonetheless feeling empty. It’s good that she’s gone back to Barbara. Even if they aren’t lovers, they are the most important people in each others’ lives. But though I can feel happy for her, I can’t feel happy for myself.
I’m blessed to know many friends. Some of them share my bed. But as I go through my morning routine in silence and in darkness, I wish there were someone I could claim as mine alone. Someone who finds me first in his or her heart, and someone I could find in my heart as well. Someone who I can wake up in the morning.
By now, I’m glad I’m blind. It means I won’t have to look at myself in the mirror.
- 3
- 4
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The Secret Life of Wonder Woman