Superman

Looking over the Sunday Magazine insert of the Daily Planet, with its sprawling cover color picture of the Justice League, causes a sadistic grin to slide across the full red lips of the shapely eco-terrorist.

“There really can be only one choice.” The gorgeous redhead whispers out loud as her finger runs across the center figure in the picture, the Last Son of Krypton himself, Superman.

“If I am going to break the world of men I should start at the top.” Though her voice is full with arrogant contempt Pamela's eyes cannot help but linger at Kal-El's noble face, with its deep blue eyes, strong chin and powerful brow. And then there is that body, that Krypton god-like body, with its massive chiseled muscular frame that is so poorly hid by that ridiculous red and blue costume.

Two white camellia's open in the super-villainess's hair, their stigma growing erect, as Ivy for a moment secretly ponders what it would be like to be in the hands of a man who can change the course of mighty rivers or bend steel in his bare hands. “Man of Steel, so they say.” She groans before shaking her head and refocusing her feminist thoughts.

Looking through the magazine she ponders, “But how to get at him?” Spying the list of contributors in the back Pamela goes down the list of people whom she has seen Superman save. “Lois Lane, reporter and maybe girlfriend? Hmpt . . . kind of obvious. Perry White, editor-in-chief? Old fat white guy, too easy, too gross. Jimmy Olsen, photographer? Geeky teenager with a camera, that might be an amusing appetizer. Or maybe . . .” Poison Ivy looks at someone she has never seen Superman ever with before, who is rather handsome in a farm boy sort of way. “Clark Kent, hmm . . . he just might do.”