It’s A Bird. It’s A Plane. It’s The Physical Manifestation Of My Ridiculous Reaction To Canonically Bisexual Superheroes Who Freak Me Out Because I’m An Ignorant Emotionally Stunted Bigot

Rompo is a fanboy through and through, but while most can appreciate comic book culture in a fun, healthy way, Rompo is nothing short of a terrible person. Other than having very few friends, this hasn’t affected his life much, but when Rompo discovers one of his favorite superheroes, Buckaroo Man, is bisexual, it all comes to a head.

Rompo suffers a massive heart attack thanks to the news, but his life is saved by two caped crusaders. One is the physical manifestation of his ridiculous and fearful reaction to canonically bisexual superheroes which ignorantly freaks him out because he’s an emotionally stunted bigot, who Buckaroo Man is based on, and then other is Ms. Meta, a T-Rex who can see through the layers of Rompo’s reality and into the next.

Now Rompo is changing his tune, but is coming to terms with his own bisexuality and learning to be a better person enough for Rompo to warrant his own erotica story? Or, will the meta reality of the Tingleverse come crashing down around them?

This erotic tale is 4,400 words of sizzling bisexual T-Rex and living concept on human threesome action.

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IT’S A BIRD. IT’S A PLANE. IT’S THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF MY RIDICULOUS REACTION TO CANONICALLY BISEXUAL SUPERHEROES WHO FREAK ME OUT BECAUSE I’M AN IGNORANT EMOTIONALLY STUNTED BIGOT

By Chuck Tingle

It’s a beautiful day, and as I quietly sit here on this wooden downtown bench I catch a small dose of that glorious feeling I’ve been chasing for years: anticipation. It’s a tension and excitement that some folks shy away from, but I’ve grown to love it, allowing these feelings to wrap themselves around me like a cozy blanket. It’s not a particularly natural state to constantly hover in, but if you stay here long enough, you start to crave it.

Suffice to say, I’ve waited in my fair share of lines. When a new superhero movie is on the cusp of theatrical release, I’m the first one camped out waiting to get the best seat.

Sure, these days you can just order your tickets online, but I don’t care. Physically going to the movie is only half of the equation, and getting fanboy credit for it is the other. Typically, this means snagging myself a ticket online and then camping out anyway.

Just for the hell of it.

“Hey there,” comes a sudden voice, interrupting my state of blissful calm and pulling my attention to a twenty-something woman standing across the courtyard from me. She waves, then points to the metal grate that covers the nearby store front. “You waiting, too?”

I freeze, struggling to answer her question as I’m overwhelmed by the complexities that come with it. The woman’s tone is friendly enough, but is that really something I can take a face value? Something more is going on here, a social equation that doesn’t quite add up lurking just below the surface.

What is a girl doing here at a comic book shop? She couldn’t possibly be sincere in her greeting, which leaves me with only one other interpretation: she’s making fun of me.

“What do you think?” I finally retort, rolling my eyes and elevating my voice to the pinnacle of sarcasm.

The girl doesn’t seem bothered at all by the venom in my retort. “Okay. Looks like you’re waiting, then,” she confirms. “Cool.”

I’m immediately angered by this interaction, frustrated the casual intruder has made her way into my space and doesn’t seem to respect my hard earned throne within this kingdom. I’m a real fan. If someone rolled their eyes at me I’d be mortified, but this woman is completely unaffected.

I want to say something else, to puff up my chest even more in the presence of this primal threat to my territory, but I also don’t know what I’d say. Instead, I just stare down at my shoes and wallow in my frustration, mumbling forth a cascade of words that barely make any sense as they’re limply strung together.

“Women in comics... ruining it... wokeified bullshit... cancel culture,” I stammer under my breath.

“Are you okay?” my new arch enemy questions, noticing the way that I’m shaking with anger.

I glance up are her, still stumbling over my words as I finally manufacture a complete sentence. “Yeah, I’m fine. Who cares?”

“I’m Amy,” she offers. “What’s your name?”
I freeze, considering my options in a moment of visceral snark.
“Buns Borko,” I reply, throwing out the name of a deep lore comic book

sidekick that she’ll never catch. She’s gonna looks so stupid when she believes me. Amy just smiles, her brow fluttering between a few different emotions as

struggles to interpret my answer. Finally, she just laughs.
“You mean Buns Barko?” she questions, trying to let me in on some inside

joke.
Unfortunately, I don’t get it, and this fact only make me angrier and more

frustrated.
“Because The Billings Tornado is Buns Borko is the movies,” she carefully

explains, “but in the comics he got his powers from a radioactive dog that liked to run in crazy fast circles, so there his name was Buns Barko.”

Amy has said a lot, but only three words of this explanation repeat endlessly through my skull in a toxic echo. With every round this phrase gets louder and louder, an escalating feedback loop of my worst nightmare as a true fanboy.

In the comics, in the comics, in the comics.

I’ve never gotten around to reading the actual comic books, I just watch the movies and collect the figures. I’ve heard from the few people who know my deep dark secret that I shouldn’t be embarrassed, that there’s no wrong way to enjoy these stories and characters, but this is a perspective I can never quite synthesize as my own.

Comic book culture is more than just hobby to me, it’s a personality. It’s the thing that makes me tick and the social realm that provides me any clout whatsoever. If I’m not wearing my white-skull-on-black-fabric Butt Punisher T- shirt, then who am I?

In the comics, in the comics, in the comics.

The phrase is rattling so loudly through my head now that I can’t even hear myself think. I should probably just tell her my real name is Rompo and leave it at that, but instead something else comes flying out of my mouth.

“Leave me alone!” I shriek, the words cracking and warbling as I turn to face the wall and wait in peace.

Amy’s eyes go eye and she grimaces slightly. She’s not frightened by my outburst, just secondhand embarrassed.

Fortunately, we only need to sit in silence for a moment longer. There’s a loud rattle as the comic book shop finally rolls up its metal security gate and opens

its doors. The owner is there waiting for us with a wide smile plastered across his face.

“Amy! We’ve got your new issues in!” he says, greeting her warmly before turning to me. “Rompo! The new Buckaroo Man figurine is here with your name on it!”

As I stroll into the shop all of my anger dissipates. This is a very special place for me, and although I’m not much of a fan of the books themselves, there’s something beautiful and welcoming about the aura that accompanies them.

Amy is in no rush to pick up her comic books, perusing the store while I immediately approach the counter. The shop owner kneels down behind his desk, rummaging through a few special orders before pulling forth the prize I’ve been waiting for.

He sets this majestic Buckaroo Man figurine on the counter before me, prompting a startled gasp to escape my throat. The sculpting is incredible, immaculately detailed and chiseled to absolute perfection. It’s a glorious rendering of Buckaroo Man in his famous flying pose, positioned with one fist forward as he rockets through the air and smiles wholesomely.

The most gorgeous thing about this sculpture, however, is the crafting of Buckaroo Man’s glorious chest and abs. I’m not gay, of course, but this is a superhero in peak condition, looking absolutely fantastic from hours in the gym at his isolated Ranch of Solitude.

“Great sculpting,” I observe. “Look at that bulge. Ladies must love that.” “Uh... yeah,” the shop owner offers with a nod.
“I mean, I didn’t even notice,” I clarify. “I’m just saying... you know...” “Okay,” the shop owner continues, scanning a barcode on the base of the

figurine and ringing me up.
As our transaction begins, I can’t help noticing something unusual about this

familiar character. His world-famous costume is the same, featuring a large letter B emblazoned across the shield that covers his chest, but Buckaroo Man’s notorious flowing cape is slightly different. It’s such a subtle change that I takes a moment of detailed investigation to actually perceive the difference, but eventually the missing puzzle piece falls into place.

“Oh, whoa,” I finally blurt. “They changed his cape.”

“Yeah,” the shop owner replies with a nod. “It’s been that way for six years in the comic books, but they just got around to updating it for the figurine and the upcoming movies.”

I nod along, listening intently. For some reason when he informs me of these differences I don’t feel the same panic that I did talking to Amy.

I can’t figure out why, though.
“So it’s blue, purple and pink now?” I question.

The shop owner nods. “Yeah, that’s the bisexual flag.”
I laugh.
The man behind the counter just stares at me for a moment, not quite sure

how to reach my outburst. I can tell he’s considering something, struggling to determine whether or not a potential conversation is worth his time.

I decide to help him out, diving in with some clever commentary of my own.

“Can you imagine?” I chuckle. “Why would Buckaroo Man wear the bisexual flag as a cape? That’s so ridiculous.”

“Because he’s bi,” the shop owner continues.
I’m laughing even harder now. “You’re funny.”
Stirred by the commotion, Amy steps up to the counter next to us. She’s

curious what’s happening, and a smile creeps across her face when she notices the figurine I’m purchasing.

“Oh cool!” Amy gushes. “The new Buckaroo Man costume.”
“Yeah, the flag is because he’s bi,” I offer, repeating the shop keeper’s joke. Amy just nods, and suddenly I find myself with the upper hand. She thought

she was so smart out front when she was dragging me for not knowing Buns Borko’s real name, and now I’m the one who’s a comic book genius. She actually believes me.

“Oh my god!” I suddenly erupt. “You actually think Buckaroo Man is bi? Are you kidding me? Do you even watch the movies? Do you even wear a Butt Punisher T-shirt? Do you even read the message boards? Do you even troll actresses online who are cast as superheroes you’ve never heard of until then from throwaway accounts while you cry in your basement alone in the dark?”

The shop keeper and Amy just stare at me, expressions of deep confusion plastered across both their faces.

Gradually, my laugher begins to fade, leaving the three of us in an awkward silence. Something is gravely wrong here, and while my subconscious mind knows exactly what it is, my conscious brain is taking a minute to catch up. My heart is slamming hard within my chest now, hammering away as sweat pours down my forehead. Every muscle of my body is pulled tight, but for some reason I can’t release the tension.

I turn back to the shop keeper, stammering awkwardly now. “He’s not bi, right?”

“Buckaroo Man is bisexual,” the man replies in confirmation, not a shred of humor in his tone.

“But... he can’t,” I mumble, staggering back a bit. “He’s... I can’t... wokeness... ethics in comic books journalism.”

Amy and the shop owner watch me with grave concern. “Are you okay?” Amy questions.

I try my best to respond, but the words refuse to come. Pain surges through my chest as I reach up and instinctively cover my heart. The sensation is terrible, my veins sizzling with white hot pain as waves of nausea overwhelm me.

Suddenly, it all goes black.

I’m floating in empty space now, and to my great relief I discover the pain has disappeared. Unfortunately, my whole body appears to have escaped along with it.

I no longer exist, or do I? After all, these thoughts must be coming from somewhere.

Moments later, a brilliant pinpoint of light catches my attention. I float toward this disturbance of the endless abyss, the glow enveloping me until it’s all that I can see.

Suddenly, I sit up with a loud gasp, prompting a rousing cheer from the crowd surrounding me. It takes a moment to gather my bearings, but when I do I discover that I’m still here in the comic book shop, sprawled out on the floor with a few toppled book bins scattered nearby.

My eyes blur in and out of focus as I scan the scene, struggling to make sense of this swirling visual stimulation. Amy and the shop keeper are here, but they’ve been joined by a few more concerned customers.

Two more figures are kneeling right next to me, and one of them places his hand on my back in a gesture of care and support.

“How you feeling, buddy?” a deep and powerful voice questions.
“I’m fine,” I stammer. “What happened?”
“Looks like you had a heart attack,” the man continues.
Suddenly, it all comes flooding back. I remember the figurine. I remember

the way my heart felt slamming in my chest like a runaway jackhammer. Most of all, I remember the horrific realization that prompted this medical emergency in the first place.

Could all that have been real? Or was it just some horrific bisexual nightmare?

“I had the worst dream,” I finally offer. “I imagined that Buckaroo Man was bi.”

The booming voice chuckles next to me. “But I am bi,” he offers.

My vision is abruptly pulled into focus on the handsome, smiling speaker, a true manifestation of heroic excellence. He’s muscular and handsome, clad in traditional superhero attire and sporting a long bisexual flag cape. His body is that of an incredibly fit human, but his head is a globe of the world in dazzling rainbow hues.

“Wait... are you Buckaroo Man?” I question.

The hero laughs. “Well, kinda. He’s just a comic book character, but he’s based on me. I’m the physical manifestation of your ridiculous and fearful reaction to canonically bisexual superheroes which ignorantly freaks you out because you’re an emotionally stunted bigot.”

“That’s... a pretty long superhero name,” is all I can think to offer in return.

A female Triceratops in an equally imposing hero outfit steps in to interject, crouching down next to us. “It’s so long it had to be altered slightly for the title to fit on self-publishing platforms,” she informs me. “You can just call him Buckaroo Man if you want. It’s gonna make this story much easier to understand.”

I furrow my brow. “What?”

Buckaroo Man laughs. “This is my crime fighting partner, Ms. Meta. Her power is breaking the 4th wall. She saved your life.”

I glance back and forth between them, confused. “Wait, a wokeified women hero saved my life?” I ask Buckaroo Man. “Didn’t you just give me CPR?”

The superhero nods. “Yes. But the only reason it worked is Ms. Meta. As I understand it, she’s the reason this story exists in the first place.”

I turn toward the dinosaur, not quite understanding what any of this means but finding myself overwhelmed with deep sincerity. “Thank you,” I suddenly gush.

The crowd around us begins to dissipate as the pair of superheroes help me to my feet. I feel woozy and untethered from reality, but the more time passes, the more I start to gather my bearings.

“So what did you mean when you said I’m the only reason this story exists?” I ask the Triceratops. “What story?”

Ms. Meta sighs, glancing around the room. “There’s a lot of folks her that shouldn’t be privy to this information. You mind if we go somewhere else?”

I shake my head. “Of course not.”

Ms. Meta nods, then motions to the physical manifestation of my ridiculous and fearful reaction to canonically bisexual superheroes which ignorantly freaks me out because I’m an emotionally stunted bigot. Before I know it, this pair is leading me out onto the sidewalk. They lock arms on either side of me, preparing for takeoff.

“You ready?” Buckaroo Man questions.

I nod, but before I can even finish the gesture we’re rocking into the air at an incredible speed. The initial lift is utterly terrifying, but as soon as we find our cruising altitude I begin to relax. The view is incredible from up here, and despite the incredible heights I feel safe sandwiched between these two heroes.

However, safety isn’t the only thing I feel. With the bodies of Ms. Meta and Buckaroo Man pressed against either side of me, surges of potent arousal begin to course through my frame.

Of course, Ms. Meta is a gorgeous female dinosaur and anyone in my position would find themselves drawn to her presence. What I didn’t expect, however, is how much Buckaroo Man is also turning me on.

Eventually, we settle atop the roof of a giant skyscraper. The flying heroes gently lower me down before landing next to me with absolute grace, incredible specimens of power that I simply can’t tear my eyes away from.

Fictional superheroes were already incredible, and witnessing the real thing is even more mind-blowing.

“You’re a dick,” Ms. Meta begins.

“Wait, what?” I blurt, the conversation swiftly heading in a direction I didn’t expect.

“You’re a dick,” the Triceratops repeats. “You’re a fucking awful person, and that makes being the protagonist of a story very difficult to pull off. Without somehow redeeming yourself, nobody is gonna want to fuck you.”

“Oh,” I stammer, still not quite following.

Buckaroo Man is supportively nodding along to everything Ms. Meta is saying, but I can tell he’s just as lost as I am.

“This is a book,” the dinosaur finally clarifies. “Your whole existence, including us, we’re all just words on a page.”

“A comic book?” I question excitedly.
The Triceratops shakes her head.
“No,” Ms. Meta continues. “It’s hardcore bisexual dinosaur and living

concept on human erotica.”
I take a deep breath and let it out, trying my best to process all this.
“But I’m not... bi,” I retort.
Ms. Meta and Buckaroo Man exchange glances.
“Actually, you are,” Ms. Meta explains. “You’ve been repressing it for a

long time and that’s a small part of why you get so upset about fictional characters being queer. However, you’re mostly just a fucking asshole, and a horrible bigot, which means we’ve got a lot of work to do. Using my meta powers I can give you a tragic backstory that makes you more sympathetic. We could also insert a moment at the beginning of this book where you save a cat.”

“Wait, wait,” I blurt, overwhelmed with emotion. “You’re right about everything. I am an asshole.”

The superheroes are stunned by this admission

“You don’t need to go back and make me more sympathetic, because the only way out of this is for me to change on my own. I’ve gotta right some wrongs and apologize to the people I’ve been a jerk to. I need to get off those weird toxic message boards that I stay up all night reading. I need to focus on my own personal

health and staying positive. But, these are all things that need to be fixed by me going forward, not by you going backward.”

“That... sounds really great,” Buckaroo Man offers. “Wanna get down there and start making things right?”

I nod, then remember something Ms. Meta mentioned earlier. “I do, but there’s something else I need to take care of first. Isn’t this an erotica story?”

The superheroes smile knowingly as I step toward them. The next thing I know all three of us are locked in a passionate embrace, kissing one another deeply on the lips as we lose ourselves in this moment of lustful enthusiasm.

All three of us begin frantically stripping away each other’s clothing, exposing our bodies to the cool rooftop air we quake with erotic anticipation.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ms. Meta suddenly blurts. “Since I’m the only one with 4th wall breaking powers I just have to say something: if this was real life I still wouldn’t fuck you. I’m glad you’re on the right path now, but honestly that’s not enough for how much of a piece of shit you were. That being said, this is a short story with fictional characters so... we’re all good, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t fuck me either,” I admit. “At least not until I’ve actually put in the work and made amends.”

Ms. Meta nods. “So long as the readers know this isn’t a great example and your forgiveness has been sped up for a story with a limited word count.”

“Speaking of word count, how are we doing?” Buckaroo Man questions.

Ms. Meta gazes out across the city from our elevated perch, somehow looking past the buildings and bearing witness to something cosmicly powerful just beyond our realm of understanding.

“The last page is coming soon,” the dinosaur offers, “we don’t have much time.”

“Then let me save the day,” I blurt.

I swiftly turn to Buckaroo Man and drop to my knees, yanking down what’s left of his outfit to reveal an enormous living concept cock. I waste no time getting to work as I suck him off, pumping my head across the handsome superhero’s length and cradling his beautiful balls in one hand.

The physical manifestation of my ridiculous and fearful reaction to canonically bisexual superheroes which ignorantly freaks me out because I’m an emotionally stunted bigot moans loudly as I take his swollen rod between my lips. He’s clearly enjoying himself, pumping his hips along with the movements of my face as we fall into sync with one another.

It’s not long before I sense a presence to my right. I glance over to find Ms. Meta has climbed into position next to me, aching to join the fun. Soon enough, the two of us are sharing Buckaroo Man’s rod with carnal enthusiasm, passing him back and forth as we swallow the living concept’s engorged member.

We swiftly grow competitive with one another, seeing how far we can take Buckaroo Man’s enormous member’s within our throats. While I have little experience in this field, I’m not one to give up easily, and in the spirit of competition I make a calculated deep throat maneuver.

I take this physically manifested concept all the way down, somehow relaxing enough to slip his mammoth rod past the expected limits of my gag reflex. Deeper and deeper he goes until finally arriving at my absolute depths in a stunning deep throat performance.

I hold like this for as long as I can, allowing Buckaroo Man to savor my oral acrobatics before pulling back with a loud retch. Saliva dangles from my lips as I struggle to collect myself, belligerent with erotic gusto.

“Fuck me,” I snarl.

I fall to my knees and pop my ass out toward the physical manifestation of my ridiculous and fearful reaction to canonically bisexual superheroes which ignorantly freaks me out because I’m an emotionally stunted bigot, reaching back and giving myself a playful slap. I wiggle my rump from side to side as the handsome living concept climbs down into position behind me.

Buckaroo Man aligns his giant cock with my tightly puckered backdoor, testing my limits for a moment and then finally pushing through in one deep and powerful swoop.

“Oh fuck!” I blurt, my eyes going wide as I tightly grip the rooftop below me. Having just swallowed Buckaroo Man’s dick, I figured I could handle this anal insertion, but his size is proving difficult to handle.

Fortunately, Buckaroo Man is a hero through and through. He takes his time with me, holding tight and refusing to move until my body has had a chance to relax. It’s not long before the discomfort within my frame begins to melt away, replaced instead by a potent, aching fullness at the pit of my stomach.

The sensation is incredible, and as it floods through my body the living concept and I begin to rock together.

“Oh yeah,” I groan. “Fuck me just like that. Teach this ass how to act with basic human decency while participating in a fandom.”

It’s not long before me and the physical manifestation of my ridiculous and fearful reaction to canonically bisexual superheroes which ignorantly freaks me out because I’m an emotionally stunted bigot have fallen into a rhythm together, his enormous cock slamming into my asshole with reckless abandon.

Meanwhile, Ms. Meta climbs down into position. She’s stripped away her crime fighting uniform, the beautiful Triceratops completely nude and showing of her incredible body.

The dinosaur lowers herself so that her pussy is sitting directly before my face, waiting for me to dive in. Of course, I’m eager for her to join the fun, and

soon enough I find myself ravenously eating out Ms. Meta while Buckaroo Man slams feverously into my butt.

Sandwiched here between them, I feel perfectly at ease, aching to explore every side of my sexuality without the weight of my own latent bigotry hanging over me.

“Oh fuck, just like that,” Ms. Meta moans, grabbing the back of my head and pushing me even harder against her wet pussy.

I continue working her clit with my tongue while Buckaroo Man slams me from behind, our grunts and groans escalating as impending climaxes loom. My body starts to tremble and quake, unable to handle the smorgasbord of sensations pumping through it as I’m pushed closer and closer to the edge of anal orgasm.

I reach down between my legs and begin to beat myself off, stroking my cock in time with the hearty slams of the living object behind me. It’s this simple addition that finally does it, and then next thing I know, hot white jizz is ejecting from the head of my cock and splattering out across the ground below me.

Ms. Meta’s timing is impeccable, instantly cumming along with me. The Triceratops throws her head back and lets out a howl of pleasure that echoes across the city, completely lost in the moment as I carry her through a powerful orgasm of her own.

Last but not least, Buckaroo Man pushes deep into my asshole and holds tight, ejecting a massive payload of hot, sticky jizz. He fills me completely with his spunk, the thick seed eventually running out of room in my anal passageway and spilling forth from my butthole in long, thick streaks.

The three of us finally finish and collapse into a fucked silly pile, swimming in a haze of utter satisfaction.

“That was incredible,” I groan.

I glance over at my superhero companions in search of a response, but they’re already pulling back on their uniforms and getting ready for action.

“The people need us,” Buckaroo Man offers. “There’s butts out there in need of pounding.”

“And pussys that need to be licked,” Ms. Meta offers with a laugh.

I nod along. “I’ve got a job to do, too,” I confirm. “I’ve gotta turn my life around.”

“Better get to it,” Buckaroo Man replies with a wink.

The next thing I know, this superhero duo is erupting into the sky once more, heading off to change the world in some enormous, heroic way.

I wait for a beat, then confidently climb to my feet and stare out across the cityscape below.

I’m off to change the world in my own small way, but deep down in this newly blossoming heart I finally understand one thing: the small ways are just as important.