Disclaimer: Lets get this straight...I'm not affiliated with anyone...don't
have anything of major value...don't read if you're legally too young to read
'R' or adult material ...if so, turn back now. Think that about covers it.

Contact: [email protected] or CSSA/TSSA Message Board (username:

Feedback: Who doesn't want it? It is definitely welcomed.

Archiving: Archiving is permitted as long as I know of where it will be
posted and that all the above info stays intact.

Rating: R (violence and implied rape)

Pairing: mmmmm/f

Author's Note: I have taken the original alley scene from Spider-Man: The
Movie and slightly altered it. The story is mainly from our Hero's POV. If
you are very familiar with the storyline or the movie then it should be easy
to follow this story...if not, then you may want to see the movie before
hand. I know its been requested on the CSSA/TSSA board for a Spiderman based
rape story, but I just couldn't bring myself to fulfill that request...but
the request did inspire this story. Hope you enjoy it. One more thing...I
don't use a beta, therefore I'm sure there are some spelling and grammar
mistakes...just be fore warned.

Spider-man: Who Am I?
by DCForever

Why can't I move? How can I just perch here in the blackness of the night
and watch what is enfolding? I know it is my sworn duty to help out when
someone is in trouble. What is wrong with me? Its hard for me to lay in
wait while, while my Uncle Ben's words keep floating around in my head, 'Son,
with great power...comes great responsibility.' Yet for some odd reason I
can't get my feet to budge.

Only a few minutes ago, my alter ego, Peter Parker, was talking outside the
Audition Hall with the sultry and stunningly beautiful, red head, Mary-Jane
Watson...whom I call a friend. Yet now I look on from the roof of this
condemned building and watch as 5 bullies have their way with her in the dark
alley. I know I should just swing down and beat these thugs to an inch of
their life and save the the hero that I know I am, but...I don't
know...its like there's a feeling I'm getting...almost as if...that can't
be...could I actually be getting turned on by the event that is unfolding
mere 3 stories below me? Could I be that sick of an individual? Is my life
that deprived of a sex life that I have to get off while watching thugs gang
rape the girl that I've loved for years. I know she is in discomfort...her
clothes have been torn to shreds...pieces of material thrown about the
alley's floor...flesh scene from all angles...tears falling down her cheek...
and screams haven't stopped...yet I can't force my muscles to even flinch.
How can I truly call myself a hero if I can't even save a girl like MJ from
being assaulted? She will re-live this night...every night, for the rest
of her life...and yet all I can do is close my eyes and cherish the torture
coming from below. The alley sounds seem to be playing in harmony with the
busy city life that surrounds...awe...its music to my ears.

"With great power...

'Thanks, kid!'

'Get back everyone...Uncle Ben, No!!!!'

'Someone please help me....get away...leave me alone...please don't do
this...I beg of you.'


'It was all my fault...I killed Uncle Ben.'

'I'll do anything you want...just don't cut can have my body...just
please don't kill me...please.'

...Comes Great Responsibility"

I can't let this go on for another second...what have I done? I promised
myself I would never let anyone close to me get hurt again...not if I could
help it...and I can.

Second later, sticky, web-like substance was hanging from a nearby building
as the hero's feet touched the alley's murky floor. The screams were closer
and louder, but there was a difference...they weren't female screams. Body
after body went flying through the air. A pulverizing punch to a face here,
a gut wrenching kick to a head there, a knee to a spinal cord, blood spilling
rib shots, breathless men lying about, heads cracking heads, shards of glass
where bodies pierced window surfaces, bones breaking as they bounce off brick
surfaced buildings, grunts and groans...and crying, but again...the sound was
different...this time it was a woman's thankful cry.

Looking on in a sorrowful silence...he knows he could have prevented it
all...just like he could have prevented the death of his uncle. Was he a
hero...or just a chump in a tight, masked, red and blue outfit that swung
throughout the city at nights with the aid of one web shot after another.

Now perching from a flagpole, atop the Empire State Building, he looks over
the city that he calls home.

"Who Am I? I...I really don't know!"

The End


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