Shelly left her workplace earlier than usual for the market to collect the big white rabbit she had purchased yesterday. She hadn't been able to take the animal with her at the time because its seller had no extra cage to spare.
'Come tomorrow. I'll have a nice, strong cage ready for you,' the elderly Romanian woman with warm grey eyes had promised.
After loading the cage into the back of her car, Shelly journeyed home.
The rabbit was not a pet. Shelly did not have time for pets. The last pet she'd had was a tomcat, and the ruddy thing had run off after four months. Not that she blamed the animal; she hadn't taken care of it or fed it properly, so it came as no surprise when it disappeared to seek out greener pastures. She blamed her job. Shelly worked for one of London's largest and most prestigious law firms and she was always so busy she had little time for trivial matters such as feeding a cat or changing its litter box.
Why then had she bought the rabbit? Certainly not to cook it – that would involve killing the thing, gutting it, skinning it, and chopping it to pieces, all of which Shelly could never bring herself to doing.
About a month ago, Terry, her boyfriend of three months, had left her. That's six men in less than a year. She had to be cursed. There was no other logical explanation. Why else could she not hang on to a decent man?
Because you work all the time, morning till evening, and you never spend enough time with them, that's why.
OK, maybe there was a logical explanation after all, but she couldn't avoid work. Work was her life. Work paid the bills to her opulent apartment. Work put food on her table.
Yesterday, she had spoken with her friend, Clare, about her dilemma. She and Clare had been tight as thieves since their secondary school days, and now Clare was married with two kids.
'You don't have any problems getting men, Shell,' Clare said, giving Shelly the once-over and grinning. 'We both know you've got the type of body that burns out the eyes of men.'
Shelly was a black woman, short dark hair, smooth, thin, eyebrows, and small, perky breasts. Her physique tapered at her waist and flared outrageously, hips so wide, butt so big. Her golden treasure, Clare had called it, and that was the truth. Whether donning a tight or loose skirt or jeans, her butt always maintained a seductive pull on men, like moth to flame. If only the men she attracted weren't mostly interested in sex. She wanted a man she could come home to after work. A man she could talk to. A man she could laugh with. A man she could snuggle up to while watching a late night movie. Was that too much to ask?
'Men only think with their dicks, Shell, you know that,' Clare said.
'Your Bobby doesn't,' Shelly said.
'Well, Bobby is one of those rare ones. Maybe you should lift your no-sex ban.'
'And risk them running away afterwards?'
'They still run anyway, only this time, they do it faster. Come on, Shell, you haven't had anyone tap that since forever! I can't even imagine how frustrated you are,' Clare said, laughing.
Shelly laughed as well. Clare was right, she did miss sex. It had been seven months since she last ventured to any bed with a man, and lately she had begun to itch down there for a dick.
'Yes, I am frustrated. Sometimes I actually think of just going to a club and picking up any bloke. But really, I don't want to send the wrong message and have people chatting about me behind my back. Remember last year when Laura had that threesome and one of the guys happened to know someone she worked with? It's a small world, Clare.'
'Well, if you can't pick them up, you might as well make them,' Clare said.
'Make them how?'
'Create them. Magic.'
Shelly raised her eyebrows, interested. Clare came from a family of practising magicians. Shelly hadn't believed it at first until Clare had performed real magic before her eyes, in their second year at university (she had made a plant sprout out of its seed in mere seconds). Clare didn't do that stuff anymore, though, not since marrying Bobby.
'I'm not like you, Clare. I don't do magic.'
'All you need is an animal and the right spell, and –
voila
! You have yourself an able man,' Clare said.
'You've done this before, haven't you?' Shelly grew suspicious.
'Honey, all those times at uni I wasn't dating and I was glowing more than every girl, even you, where did you think I was getting some?'
'Oh, my god, you're such a slut!' Shelly laughed with Clare.
'Rabbits are the best.'
'You actually made human beings out of rabbits?'
'Yeah. Really easy stuff. But it lasts for only two nights. At first, it's addictive, but then you miss going out on dates and getting flowers and snuggling. That's when you give it up. Here, I'll write the spell and how-to instructions for you. Get yourself a nice, big, fat rabbit and get your freak on girl!'
And so Shelly had bought herself a rabbit on her way home from Clare's. She didn't believe for a moment that it would work. Making a seed germinate was one thing. Transforming an animal into a man was another. But it was so fantastical and silly that she had to give it a try just for kicks.
When Shelly arrived at her place, she dumped her bag in her room and put the rabbit's cage in the kitchen. Then she warmed some leftover Chinese takeout, ate, and delved into the legal documents she had been working on most of the day at the office.
At ten-thirty Shelly pried herself from the files and sauntered to her room, her goal to get a good night sleep. There was much work to be done tomorrow and she had to be mentally prepared. She stripped to her white bra and panties, and then remembered the rabbit in the kitchen. Locating her suit jacket in the wardrobe, she retrieved Clare's instruction from its inner pocket and read it.
