“If you don’t do this spell, Charlotte is going to die!” Leo said looming over her.
“You think I don’t know that!?” she irritably replied, “I told you, I can’t do it – it requires ‘passion acquired in a lover’s arms’ and I. Don’t. Have. That!”
“Are you seriously going to stand there and state that after seventeen years of life, you’ve never once been kissed?” Leo stated derisively, “This isn’t the time to play the shy and retiring maiden – so stop the shenanigans and DO THE SPELL!” he shouted invading her personal space. He was quite intimidating when he wanted to be; towering eight inches over her own not insubstantial height. The grey eyes that seemed simultaneously cold as slate yet hot with piercing contempt saw right through her soul- a sight which clearly did nothing for him. The look in his eyes almost caused her to quail but she rallied, stiffening her spine. She was made of stronger stuff than that. After all, she was descended from Abramelin the Mage on her mother’s side. Her father’s people traced their roots to Mekatilili, female leader of a proud African people and renowned sorceress. She could hold her own against this overindulged, pretentious basketball star type idiot. Okay, maybe not idiot, but he was undeniably overindulged. An abundance of sporting talent, a six foot four slender muscular frame, jet black hair that fell about his face like it was windblown (‘blow-dried more like’, she thought with a sneer) and the hypnotic eyes that led him to believe he was God’s gift to the universe. She, for one, wasn’t buying whatever he was selling. She wasn’t one to be taken in by the superficial.
Once this point was settled in her mind, she drew herself up to her full height and opened her mouth to tell him to get out of her room, because this was a clear case of trespassing. Too late, he got there before her. With an impatient sound deep in his throat, he swooped down and kissed her lips.
Leo was scared, and when he was scared he became extremely irritable. Charlotte was lying as if dead in her living room and here he was forced to interact with this…weird chick who may or may not be a witch, in order to have the only chance there seemed to be to save her. He had to save Charlotte, there was no choice about that; the alternative could not be considered…So, much as he found this strange girl faintly repugnant in a ‘you are completely not my type’ kind of way – he would just have to grit his teeth, and get this done.
He only meant to kiss her long enough for her to work up enough passion for the spell. After all, he had yet to meet the girl who could resist him, and this was a matter of life and death. Charlotte tended to act now and ask questions later – if at all; one could say she had poor impulse control. It came from being a privileged and overindulged child, used to getting pretty much anything she desired, from her absentee parents. She was the girl every other girl envied- curly golden locks, aquamarine eyes and dimpled smile- and knew it. It was natural then that when she saw the strange lights that looked like Aurora Borealis, shining over the pool that had materialised as if by magic, at the bottom of her garden; that she had to see if she could touch them... When she tried to though, the strange pretty lights caught her hand, and pulled her into the pool, whence none but Mya’s magic could retrieve her. But although Mya had managed to perform a spell that got Charlotte out of the pool, she could not stop her life force from slowing fading without the recasting spell – this she learned when Leo drove her home to consult her grimoires…and that required her to draw energy from passion’s embrace.
Mya was a virgin though, and the alteration of that state was a challenge for a number of reasons. First there was the mystique of magic that surrounded her, coupled with her chocolate complexion so rare in this rural backwater. Added to that, the fact that she lived with her grandmother in what was practically a shack in the woods; and seemed to share her wardrobe. All this tended to repel the local male population, even had she made any effort to be noticed. Before she was invited by Charlotte to hobnob with her royal circle, she had no friends to speak of. And here was the king to Charlotte’s queen, with his lips on hers! Since her mouth was already open, his tongue found ready access and gently explored heretofore-unplundered depths. Their sensitive tips met in tentative greeting, and conducted that ancient mating dance that is as old as love.
Her lips are so soft. He wasn’t expecting that; almost unconsciously, his lips pressed down on hers. Now their tongues were intertwined, it was difficult to know whose tongue was whose.
She felt dizzy with shock and dismay, like all the blood had left her head; she leaned into him to keep some sort of balance and her breast pressed against his chest.
Bigger than they look…was his incoherent thought as his hands rose of their own accord and circled her surprisingly tiny waist. Apparently underneath all the grandma sweaters was the body of a seventeen-year-old girl. ‘A hot seventeen year old girl’ The blood in his body was pooling a little lower than his head as he sank his teeth gently into her lower lip, pulling it into his mouth and sucking with lips gone suddenly hot. “I want her! “ He thought with surprise.’ how did that happen?’‘This is crazy’ was her last coherent thought before she was surrounded by madness. She felt a sudden draft across her chest and realized that her dress was unbuttoned all the way down to the waist and Leo’s hands were everywhere – touching, caressing, squeezing, and pinching. Her nipples were painfully erect and seemed to cry out for his mouth without bothering to consult her. As if he heard their silent cry, his lips moved from hers and fastened themselves on her left breast. She felt dizzy and confused, as she pressed his head tight to her breast. She tried to control her breathing but it was impossible, and she was gasping like there was not enough oxygen in the whole world for a fortifying breath. Leo was making a low growling sound deep in his throat like a cat purring over a succulent piece of meat. Suddenly he picked her up and threw her onto her bed. A few seconds later, she was divested of her dress and the covering that her embarrassingly huge granny panties had afforded her vagina was replaced by his hot mouth. She froze in shock at the action and the sensation. She was torn between wanting to push him away, and wanting to pull him even deeper into her. She compromised by moaning out loud. Oblivious to her internal battles, Leo was absorbed in the sensations of touch and smell and taste that were opening up to him. He wanted…he couldn’t put into words what it was that he wanted, but he wanted it now. His erection was so hard it hurt him, but he had enough coherence to want her wet and ready, because once he was in, there was no turning back, no slowing down, definitely no stopping. He licked the liquid that dripped from the lips of her vagina and knew that she wanted him too, but he was big, and he was hard and she had said she’d never been with a man…
But of course she must be lying; who stayed a virgin that long these days? Honestly. He was willing to bet she had strange weirdo witch ritual sex all the damn time. Unzipping his fly with sudden impatience, he nudged her legs apart. He thrust into her as far as he could go…which wasn’t very far, her entrance was so tight. He lay over her, wrapping her legs around him to widen her entrance and pushed himself in deeper. She gasped in his ear, and he didn’t know what the sound signified but he was long past the point where he could stop. One more time through the breach…and he was all the way in; the feel of her tight around him, gripping him in her wetness and her warmth was almost more than he could stand. He felt control of his body slipping from him; and almost came. This shocked him so much that he came almost all the way back to himself – never, not even during his first time, had he ever come too fast. He froze into stillness to give himself time to get it together, and to give her time to get used to his size, and then slowly, very slowly, he began to move. The world seemed to spin and he thought he could actually see colours swirl in the air. His vision blurred and he let out a groan that seemed to come from inside his soul. He thrust at her a little faster and she seemed to give as good as she got. She was making little gasping sounds that alone were sure to have him spilling his seed like a novice and he tried not to listen. Sensation overwhelmed him. Sound, touch, heat, wetness, colour, need, urgency; a jumbled kaleidoscope that swirled around him so that he was almost blind and deaf to anything that wasn’t her, that wasn’t him, that wasn’t them joined in the eternal mating dance united in desire and lust and need so that he didn’t know where she ended; and he begun.
She.
He had no name for her. He had no name for himself. In a moment that lasted an eternity, none of these mattered – then the world exploded and all thought was extinguished in a shooting flame of release.
He came to still lying over her and lifted his head to look down at her. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing really hard. He was still inside her and slid out and off her; feeling a strange reluctance that he didn’t care to examine. He lay beside her on his back staring up at the ceiling and waited for her to say something.
Mya’s brain was going like lfmecggjthejlmcdfljflseflk; completely fried.
What just happened?
How did it happen?
What the hell am I to do now?
Was he still here or had he gone?
She opened one eye into a slit and peeped but she really didn’t need to. She could feel him there beside her, silent and still.
Is he dead? He had seemed to collapse there at the end; maybe he’d had a heart attack.
She didn’t know whether she wished he had or not. All the time nowwhatnowwhatnowwhat, kept circling inside her brain, the words segueing together like some mantra that could possibly give her a solution to this impossible situation she found herself in. The beloved boyfriend of her one and only friend lay naked beside her after indulging in what she was pretty sure were acts of a sexual nature with her. She wished he would move, or speak or leave...something. But he just lay there like someone had hit him over the head with a poleaxe! She sat up cautiously, waiting or hoping for a reaction she didn’t know which. Either way, she was disappointed – he continued to lie there with his eyes closed. She got to her feet and tip toed out of the room and into the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind her. She leaned on it and let out a breath. ‘Wow, what was that?’ She thought. She walked to the mirror and examined herself in it. Her brown eyes stared right back at her through the mirror. They tended to change hue depending on her mood and now they were the colour of well-aged brandy. She looked herself over and thought that she still rather looked the same. Not like the world had ended or anything...Her hair was still short, curly and braided into a ponytail then tied in a huge afro. She’d seen the look on one of the starlets in the movie ‘Shaft’ and liked it so much that she decided to adopt it. Never mind that it was like thirty years out of date; the style suited her head and she liked the African-ness of it. People avoided her because she was different, so she might as well own it, embrace it, and commit to it. The Afro added at least another inch to her height and framed her oval face, making her cheekbones more prominent. Her shoulders were rather broad for a girl, anchoring her breasts. These stood erect with the tips pointed up like a pair of attentive puppies with their noses in the air, eagerly awaiting a bone. She would have smiled at the analogy if she wasn’t so shell shocked and her eyes continued their inspection. Her torso tapered off to a tiny waist, the result of mostly living on vegetables that she grew in her garden. Her unblemished chocolate complexion was also a result of her lifestyle in spite of the challenges of adolescence. She followed her long legs all the way down to her size ten feet – long, slender and elegant; like her father’s they said, though she’d never met him. He had died before her birth, according to her grandmother, but she would not tell her how. His death was shrouded in mystery. ‘Looks like I’m still all here...or not – I think we’re possibly less the virginity…’ she thought, turning away from dark thoughts. She went to the sink and rubbed herself clean then put on her father’s old bathrobe that hung behind the door. She was a witch and there was a spell to be done – a life to be saved. Everything else would have to wait.