If there’s one thing we all know about Superman — a.k.a. Clark Kent, Smallville ex-pat and Daily Planet reporter; a.k.a. Kal-El, last son of Krypton — it’s that he’s the last son of Krypton. That his parents Moses’d it and sent him in an astral bassinet through space as their home planet exploded around them.

There are no other Kryptonians. He is alone in the world, a unicorn in red, yellow and blue.

Except that he isn’t. He’s got a cousin, Kara Zor-El. Also known as Supergirl. Who has the same physiology, derives the same benefits from Earth’s yellow sun.

What follows is the conversation that, logically, should’ve happened at some point.


Clark is in the kitchen, cooking something gourmet with his heat vision. At the sound of nothing at the door, he puts his pans aside and walks to the foyer.

He opens the door to reveal…his cousin, Kara.

KARA: I thought about knocking…

CLARK: But you knew I’d hear you down the hall and recognize your uniquely Kryptonian heartbeat.

KARA: …but I didn’t want to wake Lois.

CLARK: No worries there. She’s on assignment in Jakarta. Come on in.

Kara walks past Clark, looking around the room as she goes.

KARA: Stereo? MP3 player? iPhone dock?


KARA: This conversation will require…a mood.

CLARK: Record player. In the cabinet.

Kara pulls open the double doors on a wall unit to reveal a pristine turntable.

KARA: Jesus… Records?

CLARK: Bottom shelf.

Kara pulls out an album, puts it on the turntable, and drops the needle.

CLARK: Luther Vandross?

KARA: Hey, it’s your collection.

CLARK: So, what brings you by?

Kara sinks into the couch, crosses her legs, and pats the cushion next to her. Clark takes the hint and sits down as directed.

KARA: I’ve been doing some thinking. About fate, I guess.

CLARK: Oh-kay…

KARA: And responsibility. Something I learned from you, by the way. That we were given these gifts for a reason and to squander them would be akin to a crime. The idea that if we can do a thing, we should do a thing.

CLARK: Couldn’t have said it better myself.

KARA: And we owe it to ourselves, to our neighbors, to our ancestors — as the last children of Krypton — to do the right thing.

CLARK: Precisely. [Suddenly realizing where this is going.] Hold on–

KARA: I think we should have sex, Kal.

CLARK: That’s…um, no.

KARA: Don’t you think it’s irresponsible of us, the last Kryptonian breeding pair in the universe, not to breed? We alone have it in our power to repopulate our race.

CLARK: But you’re my cousin?!

KARA: Get your head out of your ass, Kal. Have you and Lois tried to have children?

CLARK: I’m…scared to. We’ve talked to a few doctors. Doctors I trust. No one knows what could happen to her. At any point during the process.

KARA: I have the only anatomy in existence equal to the task. You know that. Ask yourself: What would Bruce say?

CLARK: There is no asking Bruce anything about sex. That man took the whole “bachelor disguise” thing to heights of depravity. All of the stories are true, Kara. All of them.

KARA: What. Would. Bruce. Say?

Clark stands up, frustrated.

CLARK: He would say… the facts being what they are, there is no other viable alternative. Son of a bitch.

KARA: The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

CLARK: Or the one. Yeah, we all saw that movie, Kara.

KARA: Don’t sound so defeated, Kal. I gave this a lot of thought. I spoke to a few doctors, too, about IVF. Off the table, thanks to what they called “super-motility.” And I cycled through a lot of the same emotions that you’re feeling. When I came through the other side, the logic was inescapable. As was the realization that…well, it might not be the most distasteful thing in the world.

Kara starts walking towards the bedroom.

CLARK: No. [Sullen.] Your place.

KARA: Understood. I’ll download some Vandross. If it’ll make you feel better. But you’re gonna put a baby in here, if we have to break a dozen beds to do it.

Marc Bernardin is the Deputy Editor of Playboy.com. Yeah, they’ll never let me write Superman comics now.