Marcus and I had ridden by the shop on our way to the town square in hopes of meeting some girls, neither of us giving it much thought. It had always been there, at least as long as I could remember anyway. How it stayed in business was anyone's guess, what with all the rumors that had circulated about the place. The owner was reputed to be some sort of voodoo priestess or something, but no one really knew for sure. Somehow, while we were striking out at the square, the subject of visiting the shop had come up. I'm sure it was out of desperation on our part. But if the rumors were true then maybe we could get some kind of magic spell, incantation, or potion that would help us score with the chicks. At eighteen and still virgins, we were willing to go to desperate measures to finally get laid, at least that's what we told ourselves as we headed back to the shop. Of course when we got there neither of us wanted to be the first to go inside. Since Marcus had brought up the idea first I figured he should be the one to check things out.
"I double-dog dare ya," I sneered when he balked about going in.
He lowered the kickstand on his bike and stood there looking from the shop then back at me. I knew I was going to have to use my favorite weapon against him if he didn't make up his mind and go inside.
"What's the matter Marcus? Chicken!" I taunted.
He glared at me then said, "Fuck you!"
I made a motion with my head like I was a chicken pecking at the ground.
That did the trick, it always did when I wanted him to do something he really didn't want to. Slowly he walked to the door, glanced back once then went inside. I was actually surprised that he did. I was even more surprised when after only a few minutes he came running out, hopped on his bike and hauled ass away, leaving me more than a little scared. I glanced at the door of the shop expecting some axe-wielding witch to come running out, but nothing happened. Pedaling as fast as I could it still took me until we were a mile away from the place to catch up with Marcus.
"Marcus! Marcus, wait up!" I hollered, finally getting his attention.
He stopped and I pulled up to him. His face was ashen, even after all that effort of pedaling so hard to get away from the shop.
"What happened, you see a ghost or something?" I asked.
He told me everything that happened, from finding a stooped old lady that said she could make him irresistible, to what she wanted in return.
"She wanted what?" I asked, not believing what I was hearing.
"My stuff, man," he replied in a whisper.
"Your stuff?" I asked just for fun.
"Yeah, my stuff, my gunk, my goo, my spooge! My stuff dude!" he answered.
"Oh, that stuff," I laughed.
"Fuck you," he shot back after catching on that I was just making fun of him.
"She was probably just yanking your chain," I told him as we started to ride.
"I don't think so, she seemed really serious about it," he said.
We rode in silence until it was time for me to turn up my street. Before we split up I had to ask him one last question.
"So, do you think she was telling the truth about being able to make you irresistible to girls?"
"I don't know, and I don't care. I'm never going back there to find out," he answered then pedaled on.
I watched his back grow distant then rode home thinking about what had happened. He seemed sure that the old lady had the cure for our lack of appeal to the fairer sex, the only problem was the cost. I was pondering how the old lady planned to extract a sample of sperm from Marcus when I walked in the front door, unaware that my mother was waiting for me in my bedroom. She must have heard the front door close.
"Kenneth Wayne Ferguson, get your ass in here!" she hollered.
Uh oh. It was never a good sign when she called me by my full name. I sauntered down the hall to my room and found her standing in the middle of it, her eyes scanning the mess of dirty clothes scattered everywhere. She saw me come in and turned her gaze in my direction, her green eyes blazing.
"I thought I told you to clean up this pig stye," she barked, sweeping a hand around the room.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I'll do it right now." I told her.
"Well see that you do," she said, then slipping past me she left.
Twenty minutes later I had the room picked up, sorta. I'd be fine if mom didn't go looking in my closet. As far as relationships with my mother went, with me being an only child we have always been close. When she finally tossed my worthless father out on his ear four years ago our relationship grew even closer. I guess you could say we needed each other. Why she didn't date after her divorce always baffled me. It wasn't like she was too old; she was only thirty-eight, and not too shabby if you asked me. She was slim, and as tall as I was, with long tapered legs and a nice little round rump. Her tits weren't anything to brag about, but from what I could tell they would do nicely in a pinch, not that I'd ever seriously given them much thought. That would just be gross thinking about my mother's tits that way. My Aunt Silvia, mom's older sister, on the other hand I have given a lot of thought to. Her's were nice and big, and when she walked around the house without a bra, something she did a lot, they bounced delightfully under her clothes. I've pounded my pub many a night picturing her tits in my head.
Aunt Silvia had moved in with us nearly two years ago, and although she had taken her second husband to the cleaners in the divorce, she still kept her job as a cashier at the local supermarket. From the very get go she insisted that I call her Silvia, she said the Aunt part made her feel old. If it weren't for her, mom's salary as the town's head librarian would barely make ends meet, something her sister never threw up in her face. I liked that about her. I also liked the way she flirted with me when mom wasn't around. Prancing around without a bra, letting her titties shake knowing full well that I was watching. Even her occasional smooches on the cheek seemed designed to get my motor running. It's fair to say that I had no problem picturing my aunt spread out on my bed waiting anxiously for me to lay the pipe to her. With that thought in mind I locked my door and dropped my pants.
