So Much For Love Potion #8

Word Count: 824

Look At Me.

I catch your eye, my own coyly downcast with the flirt of a lash.

Look Me Over.

My curves, my smile, my dress so flirty and short. My legs which climb to darken depths so mysterious you can’t help but wonder how warm the darkness must be.

Follow Me Boys and I can show you delights no other woman can. I am the girl your mothers warned you about, the gal spoken of in low excited tones in damp locker rooms by men who’ll never have a chance with someone like me unless I was passed out in a corner with fewer wits about me than clothes.

Kiss Me Now, because you can’t help but be drawn to me like a helpless lodestone to magnetic sand. Hot and wet, senseless but with desperate purpose, with hands everywhere and soon shirts and stockings and belts in a forgotten pile on the floor.

Cleo May, Betty might, but I will. I can and I can’t be stopped.

And I want to be.

God help me, I so want this to be over.

I followed everything to the letter. So lonely, so pathetic. They don’t talk about this in your stupid 101 books. They speak of lovers who might not leave, or suitors who can’t take no for an answer. Let the spell run its course and eventually the handsomes will wander off in search of their forgotten lives. What the books don’t mention is the off-chance that you might become the beacon all the desperate Lothario fix their courses to. They don’t tell you how to turn it off, how to stop the ears from coming.

They don’t tell you not to combine them into one powerful hex. There should be warnings on this crap.

Before, I had nothing. I had a small apartment and a cat and second-hand furniture. I worked mindless jobs where I didn’t have to be seen by anyone, storerooms and docks, messy hair and no makeup. So easy to blend in to not be noticed, I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like; to walk down the street and not be seen, to not have to stop and watch myself being noticed, to not indulge that baser instinct, to not open a package of ears.

I took the bath, I tossed the water, I wrote my name and my intentions nine times IN BIG BLOCK LETTERS —




I lit the candles. I killed the coon. I have his bone. I fed the stone.

I fed it. I think I overfed it, and like the goldfish that became a shark —

I did it all. Every night for nine nights.

I wanted it to work.

It did.

In spades.

The stone fed on my plainness, and made me pretty. See my hair, so long they begged to be tied into it. Feel my skin, so soft I was always covered in hands. This is my body, once random lumps of misplaced flesh, now everything in the right place and firm – wow. Men bought me things. Have a dress, have some earrings. Would you like a car? Yes please. Red like my lips, fast like my hips, hot like my — yeah — that hot.

I quit my jobs and just lived off the men, they didn’t care about each other or where I was so long as I could squeeze them in, shower them with my attention, and I didn’t care because I was pretty. Hello pretty girl in the mirror, where to tonight?

Then —

Then —

They wouldn’t stop coming. They wouldn’t stop looking. They can’t stop looking. There was the fighting, the guns, the bodies. I should have specified in big block letters — No Crazies, but it’s too late now. The dead man in Pensacola, the decapitation in Duluth, and dammit, why won’t this one stop sending me ears.

I move a lot and I think this time it will be different. I cut my hair, and wash my face and dig out the frumpy clothes no one looks twice at — but it’s the spell. Here comes the hair, first hacked to the ears, now silky to the ass. Here are the eyes, scrubbed so hard as to be puffy and red, now smoky and seductive. And dammit the clothes — they can’t hide the breasts and the hips and the legs.

And here come the men. Flowers, invitations, ears — how does he find me?

And now here I come, all pretty and firm — Look At Me, Look Me Over, Follow Me Boys, Kiss Me Now, Cleo May — and she will because she can’t stop.

But she will. I will. I can’t do this anymore.

Look At Me, I have a gun.

Look Me Over, it shines like my eyes.

Follow Me Boys, to the end where there will be rest.

Kiss Me Now, won’t that be sweet.

Cleo May, now I can slee-

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Appears in Sinister Bedfellows: Anthology
© 2008 MontiLee Stormer
All Rights Reserved

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